A Pleasant Walk Through The Park
by etherphobos
Summary: Told from Serena's viewpoint. Now a seemingly mature adult, the perpetually single Serena has been forced by her friends and coworkers to take a vacation. After some uneventful moments in Kanto she discovers something she knows she needs, but is definitely not looking forward to. Amourshipping.
1. It was raining on Viridian city

It was raining on Viridian city, and I was in dire need of my routinely enjoyed cup of coffee in the morning. A cup of delicious coffee from Café Classe—conveniently located on the ground floor of my apartment building back on Lumiose City—was normally the only adequate start of any regular day in my life. I'll share a little secret with you, I chose that specific apartment as my residence only because it was so close to my delicious daily delight. I have never told that to anybody, and I feel guilty because of how much I've let the black, morose liquid—a gift from the heavens—take a hold of me. I could've chosen many other apartments closer to my job on the National Board of Pokemon Performers, located on the north-west side in Lumiose, and I'd never let anyone know such a selfish endeavor made my choice for me. But in here, in here I can express my true feelings freely and unashamedly: I love coffee! I love it so much. Besides, what's better than walking through the streets of the most beautiful city in the world, admiring the people, the architecture, life itself, as I delight myself with the infallible antidote against the dreaded discourage that must come along with all the wonders and joys that constitute life? I love my daily walk to work!

But this wasn't a regular day in my life. As I sat in front of the only window in my hotel room, on the fourth floor, gazing at the shades of gray outside. Pouring rain, which the plants on the park right across from my hotel would certainly love, hid the little, adorable coffee shop, which I was ecstatic to discover right across the considerably large park on the opposite side. Tragically I lost my umbrella during my trip to Kanto, a trip that was forcefully imposed on me by my friends and co-workers, who, for some foolish reason, thought I needed a vacation; thought—as they couldn't comprehend that some people prefer to bury themselves on their work as a way to deal with the hardships of life—that I was getting too overworked and stressed out. I love my work, I love my desk, so if you catch me sleeping on it a few times and every time I wake up the paperwork beneath me has been drowned by unconsciously produced tears, that doesn't mean I'm tired, it doesn't mean I'm sad, it means my job is my life, and life can only be bittersweet at best; if you're living you're laughing and you're hurting, and I love to live! But what could I do?

So there I was, hopeless and coffeeless, incapable of bringing myself to sprint through the park to reach my mouth's paradise. I couldn't do that to my clothes, which had only served me with tact and care, therefore the only way I could reciprocate their endeavors was by caring for them with the best care I could produce; that not a single drop of water reached their surface was owed to them.

I guess I was in need of a change. I not only run on coffee, I also run on love, to this very day. But, it must be admitted that at that point in time the perpetually single, misunderstood-by-her-peers Serena's love reserves were running out (yes I did just refer to myself in third person). Love woke me up in the morning, love allowed me to sleep at night (so of course I had not been getting much sleep, and that had been going on for quite a while). Perhaps I had agreed to leave everything I knew, everything I thought kept me sane, and go on vacation by myself, because I had the dimmest hope that a change of air would allow me to rediscover the source of my love, or would at least help me recharge my love reserves, here on _ma petite cachette au paradis:_ Viridian City, Kanto Region.

It wasn't working, and a little part of me was keen on going back to Lumiose without having gained the positive, relaxed outlook my friends were hoping I'd get by sending me here. And of course another part of me felt horrible for thinking with such a spiteful intent; I knew they only wanted the best for me. Besides I also knew that I'd never reveal just how ineffective this escape had turned out to be; they'd only know I'd had a grand time. My time in Viridian was almost over anyway; I'd only have to resist another day, afterwards I'd be able to return to the muted existence I recognized.

I didn't move from my seat until it stopped raining. I quietly, peacefully floated through six sets of stairs, as I reflected and inwardly rejoiced once the sky stopped whining: I would get my daily dosage. The skies remained gray, the ground was wet, and some accumulations of water turned the path dangerous for my shoes, but, I had to admit, it was pure bliss, even if I knew it to be empty and transient. The walk through the park left a different flavor in my mouth, different from the one my usual walks to work allowed me to taste, but it was not any less pleasant, it was adequately bittersweet, if overtly melancholic. The air I breathed around the green scenery genuinely made sad and happy at the same time, it filled me with love, which left me after it made its round through my body.

I crossed the park and obtained my liquid treasure. Simply by holding it in my hands my face shone with a childish happiness, still hollow, but I could sense it taking hold of the muscles around my mouth to make a sincere smile. As soon as I walked out of the store my face reflected the sunlight back at the barely visible dot hiding behind the clouds. I walked back into the park and produced my always-reliable handkerchief, masterfully unfolded it with my right hand as I held what was currently my most prized possession on my left one, and I neatly set the impromptu protector of my rear down on a still wet bench, before I sat on it, eager and ready to enjoy my prize. The little birds sang, the wind made the trees move and rejoice as the boiling nectar of mother nature herself gently and warmly caressed but the tip of my tongue. My eyes were closed, my nose had already prepared my body and my mind for that first contact, _scintille le soleil_ , but the uncontested best part was yet to come, the concrete content of my cup had yet to reach my throat. It was a ritual, it had become the only moment of my life that brought me real joy, _comme tristement déprimant_.

Suddenly the birds stopped their song, the wind stopped blowing, and the ensuing silence felt like an expectant drum roll for my second kiss with my hot gentleman. The creatures and the green around me solemnly paid their respects to our connection, I loved everyone for it.

But before I could make contact with the coffee, as my mouth was assaulting the cup while I had my eyes closed, a noise interrupted us—a faint and instant sob. To another person it may have not affected, it would have been quite easy to dismiss it as nothing, but I couldn't ignore it. I wasn't only able to hear it, I was able to feel it. And then there it was again, I was certain it wasn't an hallucination or a mischievous distraction; a sob, filled with anguish and distress, and love and sadness, and the longing of a child. I lamented setting my coffee on the bench before I stood up, with a pair of alert, almost angry eyes that pleaded to find the source of the adorably anxious wailing. The sobbing continued, audible weeping added and accompanied the disarming tune. My ears led me to her. I saw her. My knees started shaking, my insides were ready to explode at the sight of her. She was the most adorable thing I had seen in all my life. I wanted to cry with her, although my cries would've been from happiness, simply because someone like her was allowed to exist. It was a little girl, she couldn't have been 7 years old yet. She quietly wiped the tears off of her face with her little fist. I approached her as cautiously yet as affably as I could, slowly knelt in front of her, and half consciously placed my hands in front of my chest, as per my cuteness-proximity-sensor's orders.

"Don't worry little one, everything's going to be fine, are you lost?" I said. Then she looked at me with a pair of teary, pleading, big brown eyes. They paralyzed me, they wore me down. I once more wanted to cry with her, but this time out of sudden sadness. She nodded, and I forced myself to react.

"Don't worry sweetheart, I'm going to help you find your mom and dad,"

"My mommy's gone," she uttered with her fragile angel's voice, "she's in heaven," she said, breaking my heart. I was supposed to comfort her and help her, not make her feel worse. I can't remember if I said I'm sorry next, my brain was melting.

"Are you here with your dad?"

"Aha," she nodded again, "we went to buy ice cream, when I saw a little pidgey. I just wanted to play with him, I love pokemon, I followed it but I couldn't keep up, and then my daddy was gone." She finalized and then started formally crying.

"Don't cry little one, you know, I used to travel with a girl your age, and together we met many pokemon, and I became friends with some of them, would you like to meet one?"

Her face lit up, she stopped crying, she completely forgot she was lost, all in a second. I called sylveon out. Her mouth and eyes became perfectly round circles, _petit bonbon_ , she reached and caressed and sylveon welcomed her warmly. It was an instant connection, the little one was a natural.

I became paralyzed again, I don't know how much time passed but it was enough for her to remember her situation, and she started sobbing again. I consoled her a little more and she wiped her tears off, then I grabbed her adorably little hand and took her with me to another place in the park, one where the trees wouldn't decrease our visibility so much.

Then I heard a thunder, or what I thought was a thunder, I'm not sure. My heart started pounding me from the inside. My chest, my neck and arm all started hurting from the sudden pressure. My ears started buzzing. I could see but I couldn't notice a thing. The little one screamed and let go of my arm, and woke me up from my lethargic nightmare; the little one was too scared to move an inch too far from me, and I realized why she was startled, when I heard the desperate cries of a desperate father. The little one was desperately trying to find the condensation of the wandering voice; her eyes veered off to all directions.

I grabbed her hand and together we ran towards the voice until we found its source, and we found it, oh yes! We found it, and I became paralyzed again. I'm an idiot, of course it was him (and that was decidedly a bad thing). It was obvious, the signs were all there, of course the little one was a natural, she had it in her blood. Her father was Ash Ketchum of Pallet Town, standing feet away from me, and I was holding his daughter.


	2. Yes, Ash

Yes, Ash—with whom I traveled, matured, laughed and cried all over the Kalos Region many years ago—was widowed. I had followed his life closely and then I hadn't, but bits and pieces of his existence after our first lives together were always attracted to my ears, and they stuck to my memory with an equally predatory force. I was not able to attend his wedding because of an unavoidable engagement I made up, and, with the same despondent resolution, I failed to attend the consequent funeral as well, although that time my inability to attend sunk my heart into a deeper sorrow—I wanted to be there for whom was still to my soul an irreplaceable friend—as I was currently dealing with a departure of my own _(nous sommes très similaires!)_ , a disappointment, and a further severing of our already cold relationship, was unavoidable.

At this point I find myself unable to write her name, just as at that moment I felt unable to utter it. It felt like a sign of disrespect towards her. Towards her, who had as much of a claim as one can have on another person, and as I had, on Ash. The times he and I traveled together, the things we learned together, were not different from what he and she experienced together, not different at all. And her daughter, for whom I wasn't there to witness as she said her last goodbyes to her mother, was likewise forbidden from appearing on the swaying of my fingers, not even as a silhouette. I had already profaned her treasures too much, my filthy and unworthy hands enjoyed themselves with her property; I guided her little one through nature as only a parent should do, and ended with the transient distress that tormented father and daughter.

Please accept that as a belated apology for my transgressions, you, the real winner, the blessed usurper of the life that wasn't mine. I witnessed the gifts you left on this earth, and then I was set to disappear.

I saw Ash's face during the harrowing moment before I returned his daughter to him, it was that of a person with too much to live for witnessing his own death and resurrection. She sprinted towards him like a little angel floating back into heaven, and the effusive and consoling hug that they shared at first contact reminded me of a different time, of a time when I went to bed at night and got up in the morning with the thought of sharing a hug like that, with the same boy-turned-man for bonus points. I couldn't ask myself how I felt about him currently, I wouldn't have dared. Before I did such thing I would've knocked myself unconscious, or I would have enacted the same punishment on him; a part of me objectively wanted to knock him out of my consciousness with a flying kick.

Then, after the hug, the little one turned to me with with her big eyes full of different emotions; I was dreading it, how I wished she hadn't looked at me! I was ready to bolt away. She pointed at me in what seemed to me an accusatory manner, and declared me her savior. Her tiny waving finger felt like a dagger to my chest. Her dad looked at me with his mouth wide open and contemplative eyes, his brain was slowly processing the situation. He looked like an idiot, I suddenly hated him. But I was left without my agency, when the little one disarmed me with her hand. So what did I do? I put on a fanciful smile and waved my hand at them like one of those exasperated dames riding on top of a car during a parade. And I let my insides silently devour me, of course.

"Serena, is that you?" He said, and I repeated his words with his own voice in my mind, before I replied with a fraudulent, high pitched, "Yes, hi!"

Anyone with the least developed ability to discern human emotions and gestures; anyone who's not Ash Ketchum, could have easily seen behind my pathetic facade; I was dying. But not him, he was only happy to see me, genuinely so. The little one exploded with happiness when she realized—more specifically, when she was explicitly told—that we were old friends. She took an instant liking to me, and made things harder for the two adults when she said: "You remind me of my mom!" (I am nothing like she was, nothing at all) I could see in his eyes, how her father's heart broke a little when she said that, but he made an instant recovery, taking from an unlimited source of energy to which only Ash Ketchum had access.

"It was nice to see you," I said. I had already started turning back by the time I finished my sentence, my body implored me to leave the unadulterated expression of their pure hearts and mother nature to themselves, but the two of them paralyzed me with their voices; chanting in unison, they put a spell on me. "Wait!" They cried like two children. And they were keen on continuing their handling of my complete being.

Ash was grateful in a way no person should ever be. I had returned his life to him, for a moment I had a hold over his immortal soul. It's an injustice how something so desolating is permitted to happen in this world. The little one loved pokemon (and she still does, now more than ever), and she was prone to forget her surroundings and to wander off at the sight of anything resembling a pokemon, but she couldn't be held accountable for her innocent proclivities, as it was on her nature, which had been passed on to her by her equally innocent, equally vivacious father.

It seemed neither of them were willing to release me yet, instead they were ready to continue my torment, albeit of my distress—as I can assure everyone, including myself—they were completely, innocently, almost endearingly, unaware. Together they invited me to dinner. Once Ash uttered his desire to thank me with his trained culinary offerings, their humors fed off each other's and increased their moods in such a way that showcased their obvious blood relation; they were equally vivacious and had the same self-sustaining motivational drive, like never ending candles that shone brighter when they were closer, and I knew then that if I refused their pure and kind offer I'd be rejecting the miracle that was life itself. So I graciously accepted with a smile on my face, although there was not a doubt in my mind to quiet what echoed inside it: it would be a torture for me.

I guess I hadn't given them enough, appeasing their spirits after an unthinkable scare was not enough. Now I had to appease their spirits by ascertaining that their thankful states were well communicated with the food that they so eagerly wanted to get in me.

Retroactively, I was the luckiest woman in the world: Ash invited me to dinner! In his house on Pallet Town no less!

Once the procedural exchange of information was completed and the time and place for the date were set (both of which notified me of what my afternoon would consist by doing a number on my feelings—the suffering had already begun), and we said our hollow goodbyes, I returned to my hotel room, closed the door behind me and grabbed my phone, all with the intention of making a long distance phone call. I needed to get some words out of me, so that when the time came, only what was outside of me managed to harm me. The phone rang, and kept ringing. I worried she wouldn't pick up, I worried she wouldn't have the time to listen to another one of my ravings, before I heard Bonnie's carefree voice; she was completely unaware of my perils.

"Hey sweet-cheeks, how's your _rendez-vous amoureux_ going?" She said nonchalantly, the short yet exuberant minx. Of her I never lost sight. I watched her turn from an adorable mini-bohemian dudette, into a cunning heart-breaker with a porcelain figure and a dangerous mind, as well as my best friend.

"It was pleasantly cruising through its natural course," I said, "until… guess what happened,"

"No, tell me now or I'll hang up, I'm serious," the small-bodied demon said to me,

"Shut up,"

"Come on, you know you're dying to tell me, we'll do the guessing later."

At this point I gave up, and the words started pouring out of me like a violent waterfall of poisoned water. Even then I could reflect on my exasperated state. The fact that she was my best friend did not detract from the level of alienation I could sense on my verbosity; even I could tell many words had been left inside me for too long—a week, to be specific. After the call ended I remembered she could have recriminated me for demanding that, if I was to take a vacation, I needed to go alone, although at that moment, during my hyperbolic fit, it did not cross my mind, and I wouldn't have cared if it had.

"I can't stay here," I finalized my repellent tirade, which included abundant mentions of Ash, his daughter, his late wife, and the coffee I forgot on the park along with my handkerchief; I could sense Bonnie's uneasiness and confusion on the other side. "I'll check if there's an earlier fly for tonight, I can't stand staying here another night" I said,

"You're making a mistake," she had the nerve to reply,

"Can we please not do this? I know I'm not, I know it,"

"You don't know anything,"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not in a better position than you, and yet I do know you are overreacting because you're scared, you've always been a coward my friend,"

"Thanks friend, it's nice to know I can always count on you to cheer me up, I'm glad I called you,"

"From the moment we met your cowardice was noticeable, you never had the courage to confess your feelings for him, and, when even your counter-hegemonic nature became tired of your hesitation, and you smacked a big wet kiss on him, what did you do next? What did that amount to? Nothing,"

"…Anything else?"

"It is because of this, my dear _sucré fesse_ , and because all of which I know you've been through, that I now tell you: you have been given another chance, can't you see?"

"I can't, can you?"

"Of course!"

"Really? So I must go back to Lumiose at once, so that I can see it too!"

"That is so hilarious, but no, your precious love is calling you, love and fate have put you on that specific space at that specific time…"

It was at this moment when my blossoming contempt for my—at that point—former and future best friend, led me to stop listening to another one of her mawkish and saccharine speeches, which, like those of my own, contained real sugar, although hers were always complemented with another layer of spice and a ribaldry which mine never included, and which always made my ears uncomfortable. It was not until, after a couple of minutes, she said something along the lines of: "you are too afraid to take the chance which for some reason has been given to you." (Now that I remember correctly, that's exactly what she said to me) How dare she, who called herself my best friend, tell me what was inside of me with such accuracy? How dare she reveal to the conscious part of my being what its counterpart was dying to communicate? That I dreamed of what was happening to me, that it was exactly what I hopelessly and shamefully longed for every night, that I already knew it, and that I was dying to take it.

I was going to leave that night, right after my _supplice_ on Pallet Town: I couldn't take it.

Before my date at Ash's house (little Serena, gush and rejoice), I went back to the park and retrieved my intact morose gentleman and my rear guardian from the bench. Honestly I thought about consuming the inert contents of the first one I'd betrayed, but at that point the ill-fated taste, consistency and temperature, of which I thought it was owed of me to endure, all because of my betrayal and sudden abandonment, weren't the only worries in my consciousness, and, fearing the intrusion of a third party into our relation—the wicked defiling of my beverage by an ill-intentioned marauder—I was forced to dispose of it in the cruelest of ways, by settling it with the rest of the world's waste, were only the unwanted and forgotten went. I'll admit, during that moment I wanted to curl up with my cold cup of coffee inside the trash can, but I resisted the urge, and, as the detour had already made me late for the date, I instead discarded myself with disparaging thoughts, about how much of an intrusive and shameless coward I was, as I headed to Pallet Town.

I stood outside his door and pressed my spare handkerchief on my forehead three times before I could bring myself to knock. I was twenty minutes late. I only had to knock once before the door was opened with an energy that communicated their enthusiasm perfectly. Father and daughter stood one at each side of the door, with their open hands pointed at the living room, with bright smiles on their faces, welcoming me inside; she was definitely his daughter.

I went in, their house felt warm and inviting, it was cozy and full of light. It nullified my negative thoughts and stopped me from creating new ones; my harmful, self-deprecating voice was silenced once Ash closed the door behind me. That's when I saw Pikachu and he saw me, stopped his unfettered enjoyment of a nature show on the tv on the living room, and went in for a hug, which I reflect I received beaming with happiness. Both of us embraced with the same feelings on the inside and wide smiles on the outside. He returned my love and my remembrance of our past adventures to me with a warm connection. And then the trio urged me to bring forth all my pokemon, and then they took me to the patio where the dinner was to take place, I should have predicted that. They thoughtlessly—albeit not inadvertently—treated me like a princess, they fed me and asked me how I was constantly as we watched the sun go down. Meanwhile our pokemon sprinted and swayed around us, it was exactly how I pictured a real vacation in my mind.

Then something peculiar happened, not because it was an unusual change of behavior or a hyperbolic gesture, but because of the shattering effect it had on my mindset, which, after witnessing said peculiarity, would never be able to return to its muted normalcy. Ash laid on his belly on the green grass, his elbows embedded on the soil beneath him served as support for his shoulders and torso. And on the space between the ground below, his chest above, and his arms at either side, my sylveon rested pleasurably, cuddling with the man. They were gleefully nudging each others' noses and cuddling, innocently as siblings, passionately as lovers.

"I'm sorry, she's allergic to jerks," I said after I saw them. I had to say something, and the carefree way with which he always minded pokemon, and never humans, irked me.

"That's okay," he said in an adorable and subdued manner, as if he were handling a baby. I wanted to call him a jerk again.

He hadn't changed one bit. I hadn't changed one bit. He was the same boy with whom I had been hopelessly in love ever since we were kids. His lips were still imprinted on mine. The kiss meant nothing to him, it couldn't have, he was a child. But to me, to me it meant the world. It had been my world for a long time, until I decided it was enough. I couldn't awake the memory of the kiss, it would consume me, it would kill me, it was too much. But when I gazed at him petting my pokemon I realized there was no way out for me. There he was, right in front of me. His life had had many loves, but he was the only true love of my life, he had been unwittingly filling me with the love that had kept me alive for all these years. I thought I wasn't worthy enough to even be near him, he needed someone much better than me, but any argument was useless. If I tried, it would kill me, if I didn't, I would die.


	3. I hate it when

I hate it when people say you don't need someone else to complete your life. They only say it because they are afraid. Oh! You don't need a man, but you do need a family, you do need a sister, a brother or a friend, but not a man, no, God forbid. You may find somebody who complements you, because complementing sounds awfully better than completing. It has more letters after all, and it is better, because reasons. But the real fact of the matter is: you cannot survive on your own. Not biologically, not sentimentally, not ontologically. You can't.

This was one of the first real lessons I learned in life. Learning it made me sad, but I reflect not knowing it made me even sadder. To learn it I had to be alone for a while, made a world which can't stop talking finally shut up by getting away from it a little bit, which, I recognize, is painfully necessary to learn what is truly inside you. I don't wish I could survive on my own anymore, there's no point to it, and life wouldn't be life without all its limits.

Deep into the night, Ash, the little one, and I, were all wide awake, chatting and laughing and eating and running all around Ash's house, where I found my heart. He and the little one were safekeeping it for me, I had no idea. There, they put it back into my body, my love reserves were re-established, and I was able to resume my life as a professional lover. Of course I was not getting remunerated for my services with money, but with love itself, which I find to be immensely more valuable than any physical currency, even if I'm the only one who holds such a cheesy view.

After that fateful night, when I decided to extend my stay in Kanto for a few days, earning a few 'I told you so's' from friends and family, I went back to my hotel room just in time for the telephone to ring. It was the little one, who at that point only knew I was staying somewhere near the park were we first met. Firstly she apologized, albeit only on her father's orders, as it seemed to him inappropriate to call at that moment—apparently the boy-at-heart Ash was hiding a well developed, capable and prudent, adult side. Then, after my assurance which she seemed not to mind at all, she invited me for a play date the next day. I recognize my newly-regained feelings got the better of me and I said yes, yes, yes! Right after pretending to hesitate for one second, and our next encounter was then set.

Of course, when the time to meet again arrived, my idealized idyll met its tragic finale, which was filled with an incommensurable amount of awkwardness, embarrassment, confusion, and defeat. A truly unexpected individual opened Ash's door, and proceeded to show me why my idealistic indulgence in my renewed love for love itself was greatly misplaced, and why I shouldn't have allowed myself to dream.

Dawn, was just as surprised to find me outside as I was to find her inside Ash's house. I genuinely couldn't help blurting out "What are you doing here?" As soon as I saw her, with a primal sense of urgency. She, unlike me, was in full control of her body and her voice, if not her eyes. I saw it in them. I saw her restrain herself, I saw her ordering her mouth to give me a smile full of condescension, before she said: "Excuse me, who are you?" And I felt so dirty, so small, so defeated when I answered her: "Hi I'm Serena, I'm a friend of - _redacted_ _-_ and an old friend of Ash (I said this sporting a stupid smile muddied with embarrassment and fear, why did I start by saying I was a friend of his daughter? Dear reader, is a question that has not left my mind since, even after the matter has long been resolved)."

Her eyes mocked me, she owed me. She said Ash was out helping Professor Oak, as in Gary Oak, whose grandfather was long dead (I could've had more tact and respect when writing this, but the mere remembrance of that particular encounter brings me a wide array of feelings, none of them pleasant). It was not until the little one saw me that Dawn released me from her clutches, she certainly didn't have to be so mean. I fell victim to a mugger's trade one time, and I swear the hyperbolic state in which the tragedy left me was not different from that moment where Dawn looked straight into my eyes.

It was the _supplice_ I had wished for just the day before. The little one, as I seem to have failed to notice then, was still a child, with an impressionable mind and a capricious memory. She stayed glued to the couch on the living room with her eyesight equally glued to the big screen in front of her, which currently showed the adventures of a charismatic aipom and his friends, all of whom happened to be speaking the same language as the little one. As such was the case, she couldn't miss one second of it.

"It's her favorite show," Dawn said before escorting me to the kitchen, pulling out a chair from the breakfast table, just for me, and serving me a cup of her rendition of mother nature's revitalizing beverage, which, as my present self can attest in past tense, was spitefully delightful, and the three cups that I consumed while sitting on her domains colored my entrails of a maudlin brownish crimson for the rest of the afternoon. The ensuing conversation wasn't so much a friendly banter as it was a subdued and restrained boast from her part:

"We were thinking about going shopping today, weren't we?" (I am the master of her appearance, I dress her to my liking)

"She loves my mushrooms bathed in tamato sauce, it's her favorite, but today I was thinking of making mac and cheese, she loves that too." (I nurture her and this has been my domain for a considerable amount of time)

"I was just talking to her teacher the other day, she's brilliant, albeit a bit restless." (I am ingrained in their routine, so if you had the faintest idea of changing their status quo and inserting yourself into their lives, think again)

"She'll be a great pokemon coordinator one day." (She already has a mother figure, so if you were hoping to exploit that angle you can forget about it)

"I'm so sorry I didn't remember you at first glance, of course I know you Serena, and Ash has told me a lot about you." (That's right, Ash and I talk so much even your picayune name somehow appeared in our mouths)

I mainly just listened.

Once I revealed that I was only staying in the region for a few days her sight became to my anxiousness significantly smoother; appeasing. And I realized two things: one, Dawn is a very pleasant and sanguine companion, and two, I really am a coward. When I was eight a kid from my neighborhood and his furfrou stole my bike. Just a week after their criminal act was committed they had become my best friends. That was the first public display from Serena _la petit lâche_.

Not long after the change of humors we were laughing out loud, tongue and teeth at full display. The little one joined us after her tv show ended and an all-female variety show took over, at which point she promptly turned off the tv. The idea that never arrived to me, for more than one reason, did arrive to Dawn some time after the tragedy, but I could tell she hadn't acted in an opportunistic, advantageous, or malicious manner, because of how happy the little one was under her care. Dawn had already become everything I had spent the entirety of the previous night dreaming. She had accomplished what I whimsically calculated would take me months to achieve.

In that house I took back my heart, and it told me one thing: it needed a specific father-daughter combo to be appeased. I took my heart to them and discovered they didn't need (want) me. So it was obvious to me, during that moment, that the logical next step in Serena's journey was to rip her heart out and send it far, far away. Afterwards little coward Serena would finally be at peace, if not happy.


	4. I was not sad at all

I was not sad at all when I waved goodbye to Dawn and the little one, as I made my way away from Ash's house and towards my hotel. It was only after a lengthy but pleasant walk that ended with a door closing, and then I was in bed, that I remembered I should've been sad or mad at someone; whomever, didn't matter.

I released a sigh accompanied by a subdued moan filled with bittersweet impotence and a hint of mint. Then I got off the bed and undressed, dull and weary, before I went into the shower. The hotel room which had acted as my _fantaisiste_ _maison de poupée_ for five days already, had also served me well during the seven showers I had taken on its fine premises. And I had not been caught off guard by the untested and unfamiliar, mischievously deceiving, management of the faucets, up to that point. Well, dear reader, that day, the turbulence that my mind was experiencing led me to disservice my back, which was embraced with a wet and steamy hellish-hot punishment from above; it was already written that my suffering must continue. My ensuing rage helped me have quick bath, for a change. Afterwards I went back to bed, and laid on my differently mistreated belly (dietary over-indulgence, idleness).

All I wanted during that moment, when in the dead of night all to which I had to hold on was my pillow, was to run to Ash's house and snatch him and the little one away, and take them with me to Lumiose where they'd live with me through eternity. But what laid to rest that fervent urge of mine, and the thought that finally allowed me to sleep that night—although not without hurting me—was that the little one was happy and had someone to take care of her. Oh, how I wished to be the one in charge of her protection, her nourishment and her clothing! But I cared less about my heart which I'd rather not take into account, when compared with her smile, which I was glad to know would continue regardless of my presence.

Then another morning, and my vacation nearing its inconsequential end, were the songs entertaining my mind as I made my way to obtain another dosage of the early riser's highest liquid pleasure, from the adorable coffee shop past the park. I had gleefully ingested most of the content in my cup, and the sun had yet to reach a state that nullified completely the grayish remnants of the night, when a voice assaulted my ears, and opened my eyes wide, and froze my limbs and my lungs. A lone dweller of my mind manifested himself before me in the form of Ash Ketchum—who didn't need any sort of supplement alien to his body to achieve the energetic state of the most medicated drug user on his most euphoric state—waving his hand like the child he had long stopped being, with a five o'clock shadow and a noticeable—perhaps pathological—inability to groom his wild mane, which he wisely and opportunistically hid beneath his red and white dad-cap. At first I wasn't able to discern what he was saying to me, something about being sorry for not catching me on his house the day before, and some more pokemon-trainer lingo applied to every-day situations of a social nature.

I assured him it wasn't a problem and then offered to buy him a coffee but he affably declined, perhaps he'd had his daily fill already, courtesy of Dawn. He asked me if I wanted to sit down, I asked him what he preferred, and we spent a few cumbersome seconds deliberating on the setting of our chat. We settled on walking, and off we went on foot all around the green.

Light and darkness move the world. Ash moved my heart, his words flooded my entrails with bittersweet feelings; blessings and tragedies in equal amount had marked his life. His optimism was (is) unending.

"I have to be strong for her," Ash said to me, referring to his daughter, "she makes me strong, she keeps me strong," he said with unswerving eyes varnished with melancholy. I put my arm around him and stroke his shoulder, I only wanted to comfort him.

"I don't regret anything, I could never, I can only be glad, I can only be thankful for all the time I was able to spend with her and the precious gift she left me. I'm glad I took the once-in-a-lifetime chance."

As he finished speaking and we completed our seventh lap around the park, my desire to comfort him was joined in by a more selfish one, which was moved by my insides crawling for him. I am well aware of my ability to make anguished souls open up to me and release their pain into my ears, and I use my gift with pride and respect, knowing I have a big responsibility, and the privilege to see people's souls. But what needed to happen in order for Ash to open himself and his sorrows, and showcase them for me to see, only made me wish I could bring back the dead.

We started walking towards Pallet Town, and during the trip I realized just how much Ash had really changed, and just how much my feelings for him hadn't. We reached his silent home. He said the girls were probably at the supermarket. I could tell he was tense and tired. One of the many reasons why the majority of people hates talking about feelings, is that it is a strenuous and immensely tiring activity. But I had trained all my life to be immune to its weathering effect. I took Ash to the patio and sat him down with a glass of cold juice in his hand, his eyes looked gloomily pleased.

I sat right next to him—our shoulders touched abundantly—and he moved closer to me. It felt wrong. I felt as if I were disrespecting Ash and his late wife's memory with the feelings I had which I knew I wouldn't be able to contain for long. I wanted to hug him so bad; I ended up doing it, ultimately because of what Ash said to me moments ago: he took a once-in-a-lifetime chance and did not regret it.

Our bodies were already practically rubbing against each other anyway. I put my arms around him and rested my chin on the back of his shoulder; I held him tight, as tight as I could without hurting him. He received me tenderly and eagerly, abandoned his restraint, and gave himself to me; he buried his face on my chest. I turned my head, my lips were almost touching his neck—passionate breaths on his skin. He grabbed me tighter and managed to bring me even closer to him, somehow. My breaths became quicker and heavier, I could feel his own breathing growing more intense, he almost sounded desperate. We couldn't be closer but we both wanted more. My lips touched his neck; it wasn't a kiss. Meanwhile his heavy hands caressed my back; he wanted to open me. Then he suddenly stopped, and got off me just as suddenly, and I didn't have to raise my head nor turn to the door to know why he had turned cold so suddenly. Dawn and the little one walked in.


	5. By Now

By now you may have learned the way I conduct myself with words, and you may or may not have mocked me for it. If you have, you may be surprised to find out just how much pride I take in the way I express myself. I have lost count of how many men I have successfully scared off by using my most powerful weapons, my heart and my voice. Simply by uttering a few syllables that speak of all that is inside of me, sincerely, if mawkishly, they, night marauders, realize what they are doing and with whom they are interacting; they run away, and it is all because I give them what they supposedly want: my honest naked love, the only way I can: all of it.

(Disclaimer: if you plan to utter such cloying words and express yourself using overtly sweet and saccharine sentences, at least make sure to use real sugar, please)

There's only one man who, knowingly—this rules out our hero, Ash—has stood firmly on his feet while I rant extensively about how I am a truly hopeless romantic who can't help but devolve into a mushy mess of sickeningly sugary thoughts and schmaltzy descriptions, but more on that later.

I sensed how Ash backed off once he noticed Dawn. He and I, both adults, knew what was going on during our happy hug, and that was exactly why Ash let go of me so suddenly when the other woman and his daughter walked in. Afterwards there was a heavy moment of silence before the little one broke it.

"Was that a goodbye hug?" She adorably asked, looking right at me.

"Yes it was," I said, and she audibly lamented before I hugged her goodbye. Dawn, on the other hand, would not turn her eyes at me, but her good nature and her impeccable manners likewise attracted her body to mine for an honest albeit swift hug. Then I headed for the door and turned back at them to say goodbye once more. Maybe they thought I was being melodramatic, I don't know, they probably thought that was too much, but they certainly didn't know what kind of goodbye it was, because I certainly wasn't going back to my hotel. I mean, I was, to get all of my stuff, but I most certainly wasn't going to stay there. I had not yet been defeated, my willpower had not completely faltered, but, I recognize, that was the start of my demise.

Ash from Pallet Town, we swaggered and swayed through the world, and into my insides you never bothered to look. Stoicism and secrecy ruled my surroundings. Restraint and hesitation kept my volatile insides dormant. You made me swoon, you made me cry, so much in fact, my body wasn't big enough to contain it all. A kiss sealed an end and heralded an already dead beginning. _Une dernière fois,_ _t_ _u es parti là-bas, sans moi. Le rideau se ferme, et tes lumières s'éteignent. Tu ne sauras jamais combien de nuits, combien de jours, une vie ne suffirait pas, mon amour._

I left Kanto that night. Hours later I was back in my apartment in Lumiose. The next day I furtively swung by the office, and found the person in charge of my usual duties having mishandled everything of which he, a privileged nephew graced by nepotism, was left in charge. My usual duties consisted of keeping the people who made the showcases possible—as in, with their money—happy, and, as it turned out, they not only preferred to know how were the investments being used, but also when were they going to be exercised. So, it is not a pleasure nor a statement of which I take pride for me to say that I was also in charge of scheduling, production management and location. I did not lie when I said I loved my job—I believe I was the youngest person to hold the position I had, but, up to that point, I never gloated about my occupational endeavors in any way, I instead dreaded receiving a compliment, in such a way that understandably made my demeanor easy to hate. I was one of those people who were so despicably humble it hurt. And yet, had I not arrived at the fateful moment I did, the hearts of myriads of performers—who'd spent countless hours and spilled many buckets worth of blood, sweat and tears preparing for the next showcase—would have burst out of their chests and broken down on the ground after discovering that the arena where their dreams were to come true instead served that day as a stage for a second rate singer and his octogenarian cult following, with their many names and those of their pokemon partners nowhere to be found on the marquee. How could the universe have allowed someone so grossly incompetent be in charge of something which pertains to many others, and on which foundation rest the hopes and dreams of many starry-eyed performers? I was livid.

It's fine if you don't have highest regard for your job, life isn't all fun and games. But it is another entirely different thing to leave your job so horribly unattended; to do your job so badly that—under 'regular' circumstances—they not only ought to fire you but sue you and fine you to kingdom come. How can people be so harmfully inconsiderate? And what is a person supposed to do when there is not much to do? Am I supposed to do the best I can, up to what my limits allow me, accept that the world must always be filled with good and bad people in an absurdity-tinged ratio, and live my life according to what I think is right without outright affecting my fellow man, including being grateful because the alternative to living this ever-changing life is death, and in death I wouldn't be able to bring any kind of anything into this ugly yet beautiful world? Meh!

Most of my co-workers caught me tampering with the official schedule; the laziest ones thanked me for saving their butts, while others gave me condescending looks and welcomed me back nonchalantly, but not a single one of them was surprised by my sudden presence—I was almost offended. Although at least I did not have to continue worrying about being noticed by them.

The roof of my workplace had a neat panoramic view of north Lumiose, there spent many afternoons. I took the stairs, and once I arrived there I realized tears were abundantly rolling down my cheeks. The sun was my only witness, not a single cloud accompanied the bright-yellow tinted scene. It was then that I received a rather peculiar call. Please, dear reader, allow a (at this point) caitiff beggar and coward to revel in her filth: tall dark and handsome, with a cold and stoic exterior which managed to fool most people, who'd never know his very well hidden core made out of soft and warm love, buried deep beneath all of his cerebral rationalism and disdain for anything involving more than three people, as if it were the most unreachable lowest point at the very bottom of the sea. Of course, the oceans are vast and unknown, and dare I say, dangerous, and the water pressure on the deepest levels doesn't allow any kind of exploration, let alone for someone to stay there; little to no light penetrates the deep layer. Nevertheless, the man who called me had absolutely no qualms about revealing himself to me. This man proposed to meet up with me for drinks with a distinct enthusiasm, and it was during that moment that I realized something was up.

This man somehow knew what I had been up to. It was obvious to me that he had learned of my contact with Ash Ketchum, but how? Up to that point only Bonnie knew of my maudlin adventures, and I couldn't bring myself to even entertain the idea that it had been her who'd notified this man of what had transpired, not as a joke, not as a well meaning-yet-not-asked-for attempt at a reconciliation (if it isn't clear yet, the man and I had a past). So the traitor's mark fell on Clemont, Bonnie's cerebral brother, who, as a man, could put up a good fight in the loose-tongue contest, as good a fight as the worst female gossipmonger could. I agreed to meet with him in magenta plaza, I was technically still on vacation and had nothing to do for the rest of the day anyway.

My black and white striped flats clashed with the brick on the ground as I made my way through the sensually curvaceous streets of the most beautiful city in the world. I missed Lumiose, the people, the architecture, the life. The scenery around me attenuated when some clouds condensed and hid me along with the rest of the city from the sun. I was not in the mood for coffee.

Magenta plaza, surrounded by multiple story buildings on all directions, which granted it a unique sort of liberating privacy, was almost empty. There, only a father who taught his son how to skate and a couple who sat and chatted on a bench nearby. Meanwhile Alain waited just for me sitting on the edge of a water fountain, looking sharp and staid and at the same time serene. He waited until I arrived to him and settled my self right in front of his feet to stand up; he was one head taller than me; my eyes unconsciously followed his own until he stopped growing in stature.

"Hi,"

"Hi."

Neither of us moved.

"How've you been?"

"Fine and you?"

"Fine, I heard you went on vacation,"

"(of course you did) Yes I did,"

"How was it?"

I smiled and broke eye contact. I didn't answer him and kept silent for a few seconds. Then my eyes couldn't resist taking a peak upwards to catch his current expression. In one second I learned everything, it was all over his face: he knew that I knew that he knew about Ash, he could tell I was sad, therefore he knew my encounter with the Kanto boy-man had gone poorly; he also knew I had no desire whatsoever to talk about my vacation. And like the gentleman—which I had to admit—he was, abode by my unspoken order to avoid the subject altogether. He had other matters to discuss with me anyway.

Alain extended his open hand to his right, and to his gesture I tilted my head to the side sporting a cordial smile on my tired lips, before I moved in front of him and started walking without a set destination.

Our exchanges continued irrelevantly, my body could sense how Alain grew increasingly anxious as our walk went on; I should've guessed his intent by then. The questions that he produced, to which my consequent replies were unimportant and not worth adding in, went along this lines:

"How's work?" "You still go to the same hair salon?" "How's Bonnie?" "Have you been good?" "How's Clemont? (you already know, idiot)"

Then he told me he missed me before he tripped and almost fell. His face glittered crimson red, his eyes oozed embarrassment. He had never seemed so attractive to me.

"Can I tell you something?" I asked,

"Of course," He said.

"Don't take this wrong way, please, but I know there's something up, and you seem off… you seemed fine when I found you, but now…"

"Well…" he looked away from me, and I reluctantly decided to ease up on him.

"You know what, you don't have to tell me dude, or you can tell me later, and only if you want to, we have the rest of the day, and all night, haven't we?"

"Yes!" Alain said with a sudden, clumsy enthusiasm, and then we kept walking.

"But," he then added, he must've been dying on the inside. "It won't make a difference if I tell you now or tomorrow at the break of dawn, Serena" and it was at that moment when, ladies and gentlemen, the smooth and serious one-time prince of Kalos, with his eyes staring into mine, hit me with this gem of a line, "I just want you to know, I'm going to ask you to marry me, and I'm dead serious."


	6. What happened to me?

What happened to me? I used to live for this kind of thing—declarations of eternal love, unfortunately ironic misunderstandings, passion-infused tragedies, dead sparks coming alive once more thanks to the new discovery of the same old love, a warm embrace by the sea, a concupiscent kiss on the rain, immortal vows witnessed by the setting sun, shaking hands and knees, shy eyes and lips, even a shamelessly shoehorned coma resolved by the voice of true love—then, at some point, I stopped living for anything in particular. I used to have so much energy to fuel my mind's desires, which in turn would feel me with more energy, and love. Currently whenever I saw youths experiencing love for the first time and couples publicly displaying their connection I just wanted them to get away from me. What had I devolved into? Alain and I, walking through a heady night on the most beautiful, most romantic city in the world; he loved me.

It was unacceptable to me that Ash had been the prime mover of my life. And yet at that point I knew I lived and died behind him. At that point I had almost died; how could I have devoted myself to someone who didn't really know me?

However, even then I thought of the Pallet boy-man, while the perfect avatar of any romantic's dreams walked right next to me, professing his love for me. One thing was clear for little coward Serena, professional lover: Alain would at least get to know the object of his desires.

We sat on a bench by the river. No one else was around, not a star on the grayish sky pouring enticing drops of early morning dew over us.

"I have not said anything to you," I started, "which can't mean anything decidedly positive for your endeavor, you do realize that, right?"

"Just say what you want to say," he replied, trying to sound as calm as possible.

"Is there anything you wanted to ask me before this continues? Anything at all, no boundaries, no pretense."

He stared at the water, contemplative for a moment, before he said: "Is there anything I could say to you right now that would convince you to say yes to me? I absolutely do not want to know what that something is, I just want to know if that something exists."

"...I genuinely have no idea," he broke me. "I cannot answer that, my brain cannot process it, I'm sorry that's such an asshole move, please ask me something else, something more embarrassing and private and I'll answer honestly, I swear I will,"

"Don't worry, no, seriously take it easy," he waved his open hands at me like an anxious teenager. "I don't want to convince you of anything anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, of course I wish you'd want to marry me on your own, but even if I could change your feelings I wouldn't, instead I'd fight anyone who tried to change you in any way. I guess, the only thing I can do is tell you how I feel, show you that I'm sincere and that I'm not playing, not anymore, and hope you feel the same way, because I love you, I truly love you."

"…So there isn't any other question?"

"Before I ask you anything else I'd just like to add that I'd take care of you as best as I can, give you what you deserve, never anything less. I'd always try to make you happy, and I'd make you laugh, I guarantee it, even if I have to actually fall whenever I trip."

"I'm sure that wouldn't be necessary." As I said this I surprised myself, then I cursed myself in my head.

"What goes through your mind when you look at me?"

"That I can answer, there's actually two answers to that question," I said before I took a pause to clear my throat thoroughly, "when I looked at you today, firstly our moments together flashed before my eyes, then a bit of awkwardness before I reached you, then there you were, I remembered you, you had not changed one bit, then, your body, it had been close to mine, then Ash, his daughter, I couldn't shake them off my brain, then, you looked so serene, so peaceful, then, I wanted that, I wanted you, I wanted to escape with you, I wanted to escape feelings that would never leave me, because I can't stop feeling now, not anymore. Now, the second part, when, seven years ago, I used to look at you, I wanted to eat you up, I wanted to kiss you all over, I wanted to know what you were thinking, I was glad I had someone, I was using you, to try to get rid of my feelings for Ash, but if I was going to do that to you I'd give everything I had to you in return, and I did… what? Don't tell me you're taken aback, I told you I'd always be completely honest with you."

"No, I know." He looked to the ground, I touched his shoulder.

"Any other question?"

"I don't know, what would you like me to ask you?"

I looked away, then I violently turned my head back at him and stared right into his eyes; the poor puppy looked away. And then I said:

"What if I told you I still have feelings for Ash, what if I have always had them, even when we were together?"

"What if I couldn't take it?"

"My feelings for you were real and sincere, I never lied to you,"

"Did you think about him when you were with me?"

"Not when I was with you, I would never have been so perverse, that I wouldn't ever do to you."

I meant every word I said. I cannot apologize because I cannot lie, I'd kill myself before I lied to him or to Ash or even, or even, to myself! Even then I couldn't stop thinking about Ash and the little one, I had both of them in the brain. Their voices resounded all over my skull.

If I allowed them to take a hold of me, I'd get the urge to run back to Ash and to her. His speeches tormented me like a sticky song I hated to love—being glad for taking chances, being strong and holding on for your loved ones, loving and caring for everyone, and even for yourself—but if I forced myself to stop thinking about them, if I drowned the voices out, I favored marrying Alain, and then I could see myself and a future with him. But dreaming was easy, at least it was for me.

I got up and started walking. Alain swiftly followed after me, he was softly persistent. It was not a hard decision, at least not when I realized, as I walked by the river with the reflection of my body on my peripheral vision, that Ash's words on my brain weren't actually his, they were mine. My mind, my thoughts, my words, and I couldn't ignore any of them. I stopped, Alain stopped behind me. I faced him. And then I said:

"Why do you want to marry me?"

"Because I love you,"

"And you need to marry me because of it?"

"Yes, of course,"

"Why?"

"Because that's what people are supposed to do when they love someone,"

"No Alain, I mean, why are _you_ doing it? Why do you love me so much? Why do you want to spend the rest of your life with me? What moves your love?"

"I don't know, it moves itself?"

"I don't want you to think this influences my decision,"

He lowered his head and closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I can't,"

"You still love him,"

"I don't know,"

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know,"

"I wish I could go with you."

He walked up to me. For a second I thought he was going to throw me in the river.

But he didn't, instead he hugged me and whispered goodbye; he said he wouldn't stop loving me, I knew he didn't want me to see him cry.

Then he turned back and left, and then, then my death was almost complete.


	7. At this point I was almost dead

At this point I was almost dead, on the inside, and my exterior most likely didn't look better. With the night still reigning my purlieus I pondered about whether to go back to my apartment to get some hours of sleep, or instead doing that on one of the benches nearby. I ended up choosing the former, not necessarily because I knew the benches belonged—at least during the night—to dirty Mike and Melvin the friendly hobo, who were cherished acquaintances of mine, and with whom I'd more than once shared deep and rich conversations about personal and ethereal subjects, as there were plenty of impromptu beds around for us to claim, for at that point I felt very dead, and had almost completely given up on chasing the life which my mind had worked years to construct and idealize with abandon, drifting me away from the land of plausibility more and more in the process. However, I was surprised to find out that the part of me which drove me away from a cold, sad night on a bench and gave me the energy to walk to my apartment and tuck myself into my sorely missed bed, was moved solely by the little love I had left, which was entirely directed towards me and no one else. I guess little coward Serena loved herself enough to avoid sleeping on a bench like a God-less hobo (dirty Mike is a militant anti-theist as well as an unrepentant hedonist, although he lacks many of the resources necessary to exercise his uninhibited ideology).

Before I went to sleep I thought about making use of the two days for which I had formally asked to extend my multifaceted vacation. Almost everyone who saw me at the office just a day before would gladly (or begrudgingly) cover for me, and the only one who saw me and wouldn't help a sister out was incapable of doing so because he, my boss—who saw me clearly—was the one to whom the rest were supposed to cover for me. However this was not a real predicament, since I knew I'd be able to trick him into thinking of my sudden appearance as simply a fanciful apparition, perhaps a devilish hallucination, and I knew my boss, who possessed the right dosage of clumsiness and gullibility to believe this, would be too busy to think of checking the security cameras. So with this last argument I convinced myself to gift myself with two more days to celebrate my half-death.

Who knew it would be so easy to get used to not going to work? Honestly, I loved my job so much I hadn't thought about it. (I burst out laughing after writing this)

Next day I bought a coffee from downstairs and threw the mostly full cup on the trash can a few moments later. It just didn't taste good anymore, and I didn't even care. I made another visit to magenta plaza and was glad to discover it was completely deserted. I figured most people were at work during that time. And I was glad no one was around as I arrived with the unbridled intention of dropping my sack of viscera on the ground, which I quickly did once I found a soft and cushy piece of grass. Life was good, if a bit sad.

I had only sighed once when Bonnie called me. Seeing her name on my screen angered me, but as soon as I heard her voice the anger left me completely and was replaced by a chummy, sugary happiness of the kind that brought an overtly punchable smile to my face.

" _Bonjour mon amour_ , how are you?" Bonnie asked.

"I'm dead," I replied.

"So it didn't work out, big deal, you want to talk? I can get off work in a second,"

"It's alright, I feel great actually,"

"Where are you?"

"I'm laying on the grass on a park,"

"...It's worse than I thought, which park? I'll be right there,"

"I won't tell you, you have to find me,"

"Serena, please don't do this, just tell me,"

"No, you have to guess,"

"Fine, I'm in vert plaza now, where are you?"

"No way! How'd you get there so fast? Ha! I'm not there silly,"

"Okay so you're not in vert plaza, cool."

At this point I hung up.

I spread my arms and legs shamelessly, that sad patch of grass was mine. I almost fell asleep, it felt good, in fact, I didn't go down right then and there only because of my best friend's sudden appearance on my blue and white covered visual field. First her platinum hair in a formal yet riveting bun, then her deep, blue, sensual, alluring, thoroughly furious eyes which perfectly communicated just how done she was with my stuff, then her slender, polished, adorably picayune nose, then her unfortunately thin lips. She stared at me for a few seconds with spite oozing out of her eyes.

"How many other parks did you go to?" I shamelessly asked.

"Just one, look at you," Bonnie said. She was most certainly waiting for the perfect moment to say that to me.

"What? I feel fine,"

"Poor Serena, you have to be strong, I know you're hurting right now and perhaps it's too soon to talk about the future, but soon you'll get up and you'll get them, all of them, and you'll laugh in their faces and you'll dance up on them with accomplished glee, come on let me help you up,"

"No, seriously, I'm at peace right now, "

"Of course you are sweet-heart, of course you are,"

"Come on, I'm chillin', what's inherently wrong with this?"

"I'm not sure, but it looks wrong,"

"So what?"

"I get it, you want to relax, let's go to Alola,"

"No thanks, I'm not in the mood... wait what the hell are you talking about you lunatic? You're an idiot,"

"I'm not joking,"

"Yes you are, even if you're serious,"

"It's decided, let's go,"

"When?"

"Tonight."

There was laughter.

"I'm sorry, I'm not rich, like you seem to think you are," I said. And I tried to sound as condescending as I could. "And like you seem to have forgotten you likewise aren't,"

"Come on, I know you, you must have something saved, what are you going to do with it? Buy a house? Seriously."

I continued hesitating for another 20 minutes, but I won't bother you with the details. This was the tipping point, I genuinely could not refute her argument, and I hated the two of us for it. I didn't think about it too much and bought a one-way ticket to Alola for a price that I now shall dim: expensive. But I do not regret it, I couldn't, I might as well could have, but I didn't, because that's where I found my love, a love that I was able to keep forever.


	8. Two changes of clothes

Two changes of clothes forced upon an old kid's backpack, and an unnecessary amount of grooming products thrown into a shame-inducing over-sized handbag, came out of my apartment with me as I started my trip to the airport, mere hours after the decision to travel had been made. The setting sun showcased my canvas shoes with no socks, leggings, baggy hoodie; my make-up-less face and my lazy ponytail; I was as happy as I looked shabby—that was—very.

Upon arrival at the airport I was indifferent to discover that 45 minutes before our plane was supposed to take off Bonnie was nowhere to be seen. 25 minutes after that, and I had just started worrying (I had been deceived by her quite a few times by then, and I was set on depriving her of my anxiousness, which I knew she didn't deserve), when she arrived nonchalantly, with pursed lips and a giant, self-parodic pair of sunglasses on her face. She waited another ten minutes to tell me that she had called Iris, a mutual friend of ours, whose acquaintance had its roots ingrained on the infamous boy-man Ash, with whom Iris had likewise traveled together for a time. She'd join our impromptu all-women trip (by default) on Alolan soil. And fewer minutes later I learned that our dear friend from Unova wouldn't be the only one joining us, as an exasperated, happily married, mother of three Shauna, rushed in carrying upwards of three suitcases with her and abundant drops of sweat on her forehead. She was (and still is) a dear friend of mine I made during my youth. And although it seemed like she had obtained many things I hadn't, like money, (in an amount of the kind which unavoidably turns your worries hateful to everyone else), a husband and kids, I did not hold a considerable amount of jealousy towards her. Even less at that point, when my lethargic, shamelessly pleased ass was only happy to see her. Bonnie's similarly aged friend Shonda, who was a mess, also joined us.

Last minute plane-boarding drama aside, the flight was uneventful, albeit a bit tedious. Shauna spent half of the total duration of the flight audibly sleeping, and the other half talking to me, her seat partner, about how it was nice to take a break from married life, if only for a little bit. She specifically used the sentence "Don't get me wrong, I love them, but…" a subtly disconcerting amount of times, and even though I loved to listen to other people's problems (no, seriously), her novel tribulations managed to make me sad and tired. I understand that people, regardless of how much they love each other, sometimes get tired of spending what can seem to be an eternity together, and a change of air and some time alone unavoidably turn into a welcomed necessity. But, I guess I don't like how, even if you love someone, you can grow tired of them; you can reach a point where you seek to get away from them, if only for a moment. But what did I know, anyway?

We arrived at Alola, Iris joined us, havoc ensued. But before I joined in on the fun—even though I ended up separating from their collective mayhem rather quickly—I took notice of how huge a mistake I had just made by bolting off to adventure without thinking about it twice. Who else would do such thing but me? Maybe Bonnie meant well, maybe she didn't care much about me and just wanted a quick vacation, regardless, during that moment I couldn't get past my poor judgment call. I could have been sleeping on my bed or on a small patch of grass back in Lumiose by then—I should've been doing that instead. Consequently, my ability to concentrate in anything other than my distress and guilt disappeared. As such, I don't remember much of what happened the day I arrived in Alola—not that there's anything worth remembering.

That night, however, I remember perfectly. It started with flashing lights of many colors, music and dancing, and I realized that none of my dear friends had gone there to relax, nor to contemplate on the state of their lives, nor to quiet the feral world around them for a hot moment, nor to act with any sort of prudence or temperance, but simply to unleash unrepentant beast-like energy. Sadly I was not in the mood for any of that, so I surreptitiously made my way out of the dance-floor when I (wrongfully) thought no one was looking. I walked away rejecting a sensory-assaulting life full of distractions, barely audible sentences, hazy nights and restless bonding; a life in which I had indulged myself for varied periods of time during my actual youth, a life for which I was perfectly willing to admit, I was too old. And I proceeded to walk around a picturesque town I had visited only once before, then made my way into a beach in the dead of night, to get a semblance of what I thought I had gone there to obtain in the first place. I was not able to accomplish it that night, although it ended up being fruitful.

When they please, people can act extremely annoying, and I suddenly gained more sympathy for Shauna and her family struggles as I walked on the sand, with the moon and the sea to my left, and the deserted beach to my right, and my dear friends following my steps from afar; because apparently loud and fast music and myriads of blinking lights weren't enough to distract them. They laughed and pretended to whisper as they walked behind me, probably asking what was wrong with me to one another, giggling throughout and mocking me with love. I was fine with it, in fact, at that moment I was glad I could bring them a moment of happiness and entertainment, even if it was at my expense; they could've laughed at me all they wanted—and they did. At least they had the decency to apologize when they caught up with me. Then one of them hugged me and tackled me to the ground while I had my eyes closed and a reluctant smile on my face.

Still, they weren't really up for the quiet and subdued type of vacation for which I was aching, and sooner rather than later I was left sitting on the sand, holding my knees tight in front of my chest, by myself. It was then that a fellow silence lover enjoying the quiet of night noticed and approached me, and, when I willingly write her familiar name down a few words later, it would be useful for the reader to firstly know what I only learned later, which made the serendipitous encounter a lot more plausible, and it is that this peculiar person was used to spending a good part of every year in Alola (and she still does). Of course when I first saw Delia Ketchum—as in Ash Ketchum's mother—I was taken aback and my perplexed eyes probably did me a disservice, as not only was such a situation by itself so uncanny, but it seemed equally unbelievable to me that she recognized me so easily; not because she didn't know who I was, nor because I thought ill of her ability to remember—as not only did she look younger than she was (this is not an understatement), she was and still is an attractive, strong, quick-witted individual with a son who looks comparably older than her, somehow—nevertheless my appearance had changed so much since the last time we had seen each other, and I understandably, albeit not without a fair share of guilt, had failed to keep in contact with her or her family.

But Delia did not seem to care for any perceived transgression, in fact she spoke to me like a loving mother spoke to a young daughter—who was in actuality a grown-ass woman. And once our identities were fully disclosed she continued our encounter by giving me an eager hug full of warmth and love. We talked about what had brought us there and our general statuses, and such, and the two things that surprised me the most about our little chat by the sea were that she wanted to see me again—she invited me to have breakfast with her the next day—and that I not only accepted her invitation with a great degree of enthusiasm, but also, once I was back at my hotel room in Heahea City, I realized just how much I was looking forward to my date with Delia, and how happy I felt by simply thinking about it.


	9. The next day, a beautiful morning

The next day, a beautiful morning on Alolan soil and an incisive panic attack greeted me with equal ferocity. I had no planned date to return to Kalos, where I'd unavoidably lose my job. My day did not ameliorate when I learned that I wouldn't be the only one privileged enough to have breakfast with Delia. Bonnie, Shauna, Iris, and even Shonda, whose existence was previously ignored by Delia, had been invited too.

Indeed, I was in complete agony, and I reflect that if I had been left on my own at that moment, I would have died in such a way that would forbid any consequent attempts to correct my inert state, but instead, two different people must be thanked for my different kind of death, which allowed me to return to life with the newly discovered ability to love every single breath I took, even if I were in the most desolate darkness devoid of any sound, devoid of any soul other than my own. One of them is Delia Ketchum, who allowed me to sit at that giant wooden table which she had set up herself—such was her power at that fancy hotel, which had been granted to her by her constant use of the premises and the familiarity she had acquired with the owners. Surrounded by my very dear friends and Delia's immensely intelligent companions, Sid and Phoebe (whom I will describe concretely a few words later), I encountered the second and last person I must thank for my survival. She was already sitting at the table when I walked in and found her right in front of me, with her delicate golden hair—an explosive expression of her divinity, having found an outlet to show itself right from the top of her head—falling gracefully all the way to her shoulders, and a pair of green eyes, each with a life of their own practically pouring out of them; she was dressed all in white, as our ethereal souls had already jointly decided it should be. She shone, she was the only thing I could see at that point; she mourned, having identified that same missing unknown which had brought me so much distress, and was likewise incapable of revealing her perils to her lighthearted peers.

But that was about to change. Nobody but me would've understood.

Delia introduced the previously unknown members of the casual gathering to the group. Phoebe, a jolly madam out of a fairy tail, with short and curly brown hair, and a soothing combo of eyes and smile—as soon as I saw her and heard her voice I had the urge to ask her to become my new mom, and what a sweet and caring mom she'd be, and most definitely already was to someone else; how I envied her kin (she shall never read this, or at least not before I erase that last confession—screw it, Phoebe, if you're reading this, you're the loveliest person ever!). And Sid, a cerebral, bespectacled, fear-inducing woman with a scholarly air. She had long silver hair, of the kind I thought you could only obtain by wishing upon an indulgent star, and she had a thick yet elegant accent which made her presence all the more imposing. Both of them were around Delia's age, and they loved to have discussions of the highest kind of brow, which would repel my voracious friends soon enough. Also joining Delia's gathering were Ash's Alolan friends and contemporaries Mallow and Lana, as well as my savior, Lillie, the one that helped me return the light to my existence, the fire to my entrails.

I love my friends, my lovely, relentlessly energetic, courageously loud, seemingly simple friends, who bailed on the gathering as soon as the food had become one with each of them. Bonnie, Shauna, Mallow, Iris, Lana, and even Shonda, who, during the breakfast, dropped not one, not two, but three glasses of her gleefully sweetened beverage on the table, and who ended up not returning to Lumiose with the rest after finding solace in the arms of a corpulent Alolan swimmer. All of them left to continue their loud profligacy, leaving only Lillie and I with the three wise queens at the table.

Thank goodness they did, otherwise my senses wouldn't have been so focused, so ready, so open, so willing to listen to the ensuing conversation, which for some fancifully fateful reason I ended up starting.

First we pondered on the inescapable fate that constituted growing old and tired, which awaited us all. Generally speaking, younger people did not give the passage of time a second thought, perhaps not even a first. Younger people lived to entertain their senses and exorcise their passionate imaginations, overtly influenced by books, films, and tv, which were by themselves merely an approximation of the lives of those who consumed them—an imitation; not the real thing. Meanwhile the mature and tired conformed simply with talking about the life they had or hadn't lived, as time slowly revealed to them that awful truth—there's two stages in life, one where you live and another one where you remember what you did when you were alive.

Of course this was a grim and depressing assessment of the most fatalistic kind, and as everyone at the table ascertained afterwards, it doesn't have to be true at all. Indeed, I confess with the utmost certainty that during that moment those three seasoned women were much more alive than any of us younger beasts.

Then I mentioned that my motivation for waking up in the morning was the nightly walk back to my house after work, and the consequent contemplative solitude inside my dim apartment, and how perhaps I had implicitly resigned myself to leave my loud and musical youth behind, and embraced the isolated peace of quiet maturity, and afternoons on the couch with yogurt and a blanket over my feet— _pure joie_. Everyone agreed blankets and yogurt were the bomb, coffee at night was a devilish delight, someone added to unanimous agreement, but Delia had something else to say about my defeatist, almost shameful attitude.

"Preferring quiet and calm nights over going out has nothing to do with your age Serena," Delia said. It almost sounded like a scolding. Then she turned to the group. "We all recognize the indisputable value of solitude and isolation, right?"

"Isolation leads to self-pity and resentment," sweet Phoebe rebuffed her friend. Afterwards she looked at the ground, and slowly lifted her gaze at Sid, who subtly raised from her chair for an instant; Phoebe knew what she had done, and Sid knew Phoebe was challenging her to respond.

"But a good dose of silence is essential," solemn Sid responded. "A separation from all the noise is crucial, that's how you defeat the ignorance that comes with conformism and mob mentality."

"We can't exist without each other, we need to be near one another, simply to survive," Phoebe said.

"I don't deny that, what I'm saying is you cannot learn who you really are if all you do is listen to what everyone else is saying (I exploded internally after Sid said this)."

"So, Sid, what you're saying is that we should close ourselves off and live only by what we think is right?" Delia intervened,

"I'm saying we should be certain of who we are before anything else," Sid replied. "Be certain of your own inner convictions and motivations before getting carried away by ideologies and morals. There are studies that say, basically, the more people believe a certain thing, the truer that certain thing becomes. Not that it becomes the right thing, but that our brains chemically start believing it more, just from how many people believe it. This happens regardless of how much sense that certain thing makes. Numbers make the truth. Then how can anybody be certain of what is really the truth?"

"I get what you're saying," Phoebe replied. "All of these people saying all of these things make it harder for everyone to discern their own identities. It's a problem how, as it seems, no one can keep quiet. But that's life, and the society around us is part of our identity. We aren't really individuals, are we? We are all simply part of a collective."

"So what does that mean? That if you take everyone else away from us we stop existing?"

"Fundamentally, yes. Not completely I suppose, but a part of us, certainly. Life is all about compromises, even our personal identity is a compromise between our inherent individuality and society as a whole. We take a name for the rest of them to call us, we take a title and exercise a function, for them collectively, and for us, individually. This is who we are, and it is real, although it does not eliminate our essential individuality."

"Which we desperately need to start minding again, so more people can see how far gone we are."

"You have a point," Delia intervened, once more, in what had become a full fledged debate, of which she herself had become the moderator. Lillie and I, for our part, had taken to move our eyes rapidly from side to side, silently, as we tried to understand what they were saying. "It's very difficult to get out of our comfort zone," Delia said. "To separate ourselves from the comfort of our sheltered normalcy. It is way easier to stay on a mutually, blindly validating society. Besides, being alive means accepting life with all of its diversity, it means compromising our individual selves for the sake of survival."

"The more scared you are, the more you compromise your real tiny self—the less you know your real self. Fear makes you lose yourself. It makes you run to the masses looking for protection at the cost of your own identity," Sid continued, now with a more spirited air. Then Lillie's timid voice intervened.

"But don't you think that people who know themselves tend to seek people like them?"

"That's natural," Sid answered. "I think the problematic part is when you're not sure of who you are, and you seek others just to clear your doubts."

"Finding out who you really are is painfully complicated," Delia added. "As Sid said there's nothing wrong with getting closer with those who think like you, but don't do it at the expense of your self."

"Everyone who's ever been in a relationship will tell you compromises are crucial, but a healthy partner will never make you lose sight of your real self. And a good dose of isolation is necessary to tend to your self." Sid said.

"Of course we have said it before, there's a clear limit as to just how much we should isolate ourselves to find find our real selves, and it is clear we can't survive on our own."

"A relationship, a real connection," Delia said. "There's nothing higher and mightier than this. You do need someone to complete yourself, perhaps, but make sure you're not acting out of fear." Then she looked at me, I had been quietly and attentively listening to their every word, half of which I could not process. But what I did understand, I treasured in my mind.

"So, Serena, if you had to confront yourself, your real self, alone, naked, what would be your inner motivation?"

"Like, what moves me?" I replied,

"Exactly."

"Love," I said.

"Directed at who?"

"Everyone."

"Including you?"

She caught me off guard, I could tell they all noticed. Luckily Phoebe saved me.

"I can tell you're a very selfless person," she said. "Very loving, very selfless."

"Thank you very much, I'd like to think that I try," I said. "Sometimes I feel like I need to be."

"Ah, the need to be selfless is a tender one," Phoebe added. "Being selfless makes you feel good, being selfless makes you healthier, it improves your mental as well as physical health. It makes you live longer too… but you can't be selfless without being selfish at the same time."

"And what you mean by that, I assume, doesn't have anything to do with helping someone and expecting something in return, that is primordially motivated by fear," Sid said. "Being truly selfless is purely about self-sacrifice, but you do need to have someone around you, someone you can help, so that you can be selfless, so that you can be yourself."

"However, you must have always present that there is something as being too selfless," Phoebe said. "You must compromise your degree of selflessness so you don't compromise your well being. If you give too much of yourself away you'll have nothing left to give. An unhealthy focus on others to the detriment of one's own needs. I guess everything can be taken to an unhealthy extreme conclusion,"

"You must give some of that selflessness to yourself," Delia concluded. "If you plan to be selfless, if you need to be, if you want to be, you owe it to yourself as much as you owe it to everyone around you, to love yourself."

"If you shine then you give others shine," Lillie mused out loud, with her lost sight pointed at the table.

A natural end to our gathering was reached, mouths and brains were exhausted but pleased. Sid left first, it was a pleasure to meet her and, as she communicated, the pleasure was mutual. Her job at the local university called to her, and she understandably wished to keep it, unlike some people I kind of knew. Phoebe left second, she had a wide array of restless grandchildren for which to care, unlike some people I kind of knew. Her goodbye hug I still remember like a tender dream, I could've been addressed by a capricious cloud longing for a connection and I wouldn't have noticed the difference—it was that good. Afterwards Delia was suddenly entertained by another issue and I was left alone with Lillie, who responded to our sudden solitude by giving me a nervous smile, which I promptly returned.


	10. The next day, a beautiful morning Part 2

Lovely mauve berry trees in bloom. Two girls with flowers on their hair wandered around the soft and warm sand, holding a smaller boy with a big smile on his face by the hand. Two pale blondes, one in white, one in blue, both beaming, slim and carefree, watched from afar while resting on the same sand.

"What moves you?" I asked.

"Me?" Lillie said as she stared at the water. "I want to get to know someone, but, in a genuine way. I won't conform with just knowing them well, or with knowing a lot about them, better than anyone else. I want to know everything there is to know about another person. I want to know them better than they know themselves. I know, nobody wants to be left completely defenseless, nobody wants to give all of themselves away, not really. Believe me, that I know, very well. They always hold back at least a little bit of themselves. Don't get me wrong I completely understand. I wouldn't want to take it if they didn't willingly give it to me, but anyway, that's what I want. Just one person, one will be enough for me."

Then she turned to me violently and intensely stared into my soul.

"Would you do it? I can see it in you Serena, you aren't afraid."

"Not anymore," I said.

"Would you let me know all of you?"

"Lillie, I would."

"Tell me everything then, all there is. Don't spare a single detail, don't dismiss any little thing as unnecessary. You owe it to yourself, please. Let me witness you acknowledge yourself, love yourself, and I'll let you have everything I have in return."

"It's a deal," I said. Then we shook hands.

"I'll answer anything you ask, but first I'd like to talk about what I am when you take everyone else away.

I think of myself as a coward, and in a way I cannot deny that is what I am. Cowardice and fear have defined my life more than anything else—fear has stopped me from living a real life. A real life which I'm certain I wouldn't ever regret, no matter what. I can't live without people, it doesn't matter who is in front of me, but they need to be there so I can love them—because I need to love, to find any semblance of value to this life. And yet, I have never dared to really give my love away, the way I always wanted to, and it is all because I was afraid, and had been so my whole life.

Long ago I spent a lot of time with Ash, whom I loved dearly. I couldn't tell him how I felt, and then we went our separate ways and yet my feelings for him never left me. I was never left alone, and I think you can't ever be really left alone, but at that point I certainly felt like I was alone. I felt like an empty vessel. I thought I could feel my life with other things, be it showcases, friends, other men. Anything I thought would help me improve, all so that I'd stop feeling so empty and alone. I continued with my life, trying to cover up the fact that I was missing something, and I cannot say that it was a waste of time, or that it was unauthentic—but it was incomplete.

Honestly, I was only able to hold it together because of my mother. Her love kept me going. So when she died, the mask that was covering the hole in my heart disappeared, and that's when I really plummeted. I'd cry everywhere, I'd cry openly at work and at restaurants, and my embarrassed peers could only try to console me. At some point I think I got tired of crying, and then I thought I had healed, my mourning process had been completed. But in reality I was still empty, and everyone could notice, and that's when they told me to take a vacation.

I thought that becoming a performer meant I was embracing life, but I was wrong, I was only imitating life and not really living it. I never felt more alive than whenever I appeared at the center of the stage and showcased myself and everything for which my pokemon and I had worked, and everything I had experienced up to that point. But everything that was real about it, actually real, happened before I appeared onstage. I wanted more and I never got it, and it was all because of fear.

I now realize that everyone and everything I've ever loved, my Mother, Ash, his daughter, I love because I love life, and they are the most beautiful expressions of life itself. They live life like nobody else and can appreciate it as much as I do, perhaps even more. So basically, I love life but I'm afraid of it.

Maybe I have always known I have been doing something wrong, because I always wanted more, I needed more than what I was getting. And I still want more. I can't help but think that if I had loved myself just a little bit more, perhaps, if I had loved myself at all, maybe I wouldn't have been so afraid, and I can't help but think that the people around me would have benefited from that love as well."

"Well, you know that now," Lillie said, unfettered.

"I suppose that's true."

"Would you rather not know at all?"

"I suppose not. Maybe I'm being too grim, I don't regret becoming a pokemon performer at all, and I don't regret that now I can help others do the same. I don't regret my travels either. I certainly don't regret oversharing anything with you or with anyone. I don't regret being always honest, perhaps to a fault, although I'd never fault myself for it. I hate defrauding people, and I loved myself enough to not defraud myself by being dishonest. I do wish I'd known sooner, but there's no point in lamenting myself, just as there's no point in wishing to be alone."

I started crying, but I was happy. I wanted to give myself a hug, thankfully Lillie was there and she gave me a particularly good one, which I still remember and cherish to this day.

"Any questions?"

"What's your first memory?" She asked, and we stayed the whole night wide awake talking and staring into each other's eyes. She kept her promise and gave me everything she had. However, I will omit that for now, for the sake of her privacy.

After our fateful and life-changing encounter ended I was left with an aching feeling—mercurial yet honest—which I was certain I needed to service immediately. I was also certain said feeling had always been within me, and had previously remained in a state of numbness which had been elicited by my repentant cowardice. Well, my cowardice was gone, and my most fervent and internal motives and desires could now come out to the surface and manifest themselves at will. This feeling which was my own essence, and therefore had by its title my name, called for me to ignore any mundane matters like money and work, and to get on the most immediate flight from Alola to Kanto. So that was what I did.

I left for the airport. Lillie and I both knew it wouldn't matter if we never saw each other again (which would happen relatively soon actually, during an event I'd rather keep secret, at least for the moment), our connection had been immortalized within our souls and on the air around us.


	11. It was certainly an eerie feeling

It was certainly an eerie feeling, how—during my plane ride to Kanto, three days after I was supposed to go back to work—my mind kept debating the fate I had brought upon myself, my nightmare turned into a blissful dream, turned into a reckless escapade, turned into an otherworldly reverie. One part of me kept whispering: This doesn't make any sense, this is stupid and so are you. This doesn't belong to you, why do you try? Meanwhile another part gently soothed me with a caring voice and these words: don't worry baby, I love you. I wasn't lying when I said I loved my job, and the thought of losing it caused me a great deal of sorrow—which I knew I could easily endure, as if it were a nourished leaf of the brightest green having fallen to die ahead of its time on my supine chest, before being blown away by a light breeze. I could only be thankful for my lovely time in Alola.

At some point during the trip to Kanto I became lucid enough to try and call my employers, to test the turbulent waters inside of a Lumiose dream. A dream from which I thought I'd have to wake up. I was willing to submit to a wide array of alternatives—apologize profusely, cry and beg for mercy, perhaps, accept my fate, and cry. No one answered.

So when I arrived in Viridian City, to the same hotel room on the same hotel where I had spent some pleasantly quiet days some time ago, and my Lumiose boss knocked on my door mere minutes after I had settled myself in, and begged me, almost kneeling—he tried to, I did not let him—with the desperation visible in his eyes, to come back, as things were, to put it nicely, not working out around, I just about punched him in the mouth.

"Of course I'll come back!" I said to the poor short fellow, who obviously had been forced to make the trip, before I hugged him intensely and lifted him off the ground. I was ecstatic, dumbfounded, confused and out of my mind, and beaming with sudden happiness; I genuinely couldn't believe it, he could have been an hallucination for all I knew—at least until I absorbed him into my arms. We both rejoiced and laughed together, he had completed his mission, and I still had the job I loved. And I wouldn't have to resort to being homeless either.

"I'll be there Monday morning, (as in, three days later)" I said, cheekily, challenging my destiny. After all, my inner desires—Serena herself—had not been properly serviced yet. I knew I needed more time for myself.

"What? No," he said with puerile lament. "I'm supposed to take you in today, we need you."

"Don't worry Phil I'm used to taking my work home anyway, I have the numbers of the advertisers on my phone already."

"That's strictly not allowed."

"You know what is also strictly not allowed? Going to Alola for a week instead of going to work. Come on, just tell me who's angry and I'll solve all of your problems."

"Thank you, oh! You angel, you have saved my whole existence."

Then he proceeded to move and twitch around very peculiarly, as if I weren't right in front of him—I guess he was too thankful to care. I guess I did have a talent, something not many people could do. I guess I couldn't lose if I loved myself, genuinely, to the core, from the core, without pretense.

"Am I getting paid for this?" I said with a truly shameless smile on my face. I knew I was stepping out of my boundaries, I was only partially serious.

"I'm not sure," he told me. The cheeky man had to look up at me, I towered over him, and yet he had no trouble, no trouble at all! Lying to my face. He knew perfectly well I would not get paid for my intrepid machinations.

"How about for the past week?" I said.

"What do you think?" He asked.

"Yes?"

"You're right!"

"Really?"

"No-o!" My boss said with gusto. I should've seen behind his trickery. I had left my cowardice behind, but I was still a blissfully hopeful _naivette_ —just like him. However, he had been fair, I would have done the same.

I audibly lamented with a desolate moan.

"Please, please get this done." He started leaving. "You said Monday." He pointed at me.

"I promise I'll be there," I said.

"Promise yourself love, otherwise you'll get fired. By the way, do you happen to know when the next bus to Celadon leaves? You aren't the only one currently in an adventure. You know what, never-mind, I'll check the schedule, Enjoy your vacation!"

He then left, and I made some lengthy phone calls which finished the job of leaving me broke, but I didn't care. I didn't dare to ask my employers to compensate me for the loss of personal capital during a ploy which favored them as much as me. It was most certainly an implicit deal that said sacrifice should be part of my repentance and occupational rehabilitation. At least it was on my end.

After I finished with work stuff I used my modest remaining credit to contact the Ketchum residence.

The unusually deep and tired voice of Ash in the afternoon answered, and, as I didn't care about money anymore, and I wanted to make things harder for myself, even though I had just learned to genuinely love myself and intrinsically knew I'd be fine—I wasn't scared, I had a job—I invited them for lunch the next day, the two of them (or three, the number didn't matter). Ash didn't make a lot of sense, and I ended up with the understanding that I'd arrive at their house with the food, for some reason—he sounded extra weird, like he was about to pass out, or had a particularly afflicting cold. Suddenly I wished I had brought my diminutive kitchen with me, I'd had made him a nice soup.

Another night in a hotel later, another nice morning on the park with a nicer cup of coffee, which tasted good again. Later, _encore moi, Serena_ , at the restaurant, and finally, me knocking on their door with a smile on my face. Nobody answered.

I said "Alright" with a tired expression on my face before I knocked again. The handle finally moved, for a few seconds. It seemed whoever was at the other side was struggling for some reason, so I opened the door myself and found a lone little one at the other side.

The lights were turned off, the Tv was on with the volume considerably loud. The exquisitely beautiful _pépée_ was seemingly alone. Beaming with sudden happiness, she jumped at me and I caught her and didn't release her. She waved her floating feet on the air as I walked inside with her now a part of me, masterfully handling the plastic bag containing the key to our temporal survival on my fingers.

"Where are Ash and Dawn?" I asked the _pépée_.

"Dad is upstairs sleeping, Dawn had to go to Sinnoh," she replied with that sweet voice I missed so much.

"Really?"

"Yes, she does that sometimes, she has to go for emergencies. She is from there actually."

"I see… are you hungry?"

"You bet!"

"Then let's eat… hey, is your dad sick?

"No, he's just tired I think."

"Should we wake your him?"

"Nah."

She spoke, we ate. In front of the Tv, we made sure to separate a ration for the sleeping booty (her words, not mine) while we feasted on everything else with voracious abandon. Our forks pierced through the juicy tenderness from the communal plate placed between us on the couch; One, then the other, forks traveled upwards until the crossing of the crimson thresholds hiding thirty one white demolishers inside one of the mouths and nineteen (with many more forthcoming) inside the other; the ensuing pleasure derived from the clashing of the impaled treasure and the blessed palate drove both of us to wave our arms with closed fists—in celebration mode—in unison. We were eating as much as we were dancing.

Some time later she fell asleep on my lap, and I straight up cried. She looked angelic, felt so tender, sounded adorably guttural. I turned off the Tv and cried of pure joy in silence and in darkness. Time did not move for me, neither did the world outside of that house mattered, for at that point I was only glad I could be there with her.

It was when I let out the deepest of sighs that she abruptly opened her eyes and inhaled with violence: I reflect those were the gestures I made when I suddenly got killed in a dream—or a nightmare.

"Bianca," the little one suddenly uttered. Then she bolted off the couch and ran out of the house before I could react. I still questioned what happened and shouted her name—although I assume she couldn't have heard me at that point—before I got up and ran after her.

She was still running when I opened the door and saw her getting farther away. She had a lot of energy and was in shape. I had not the former, nor I was the latter, but my legs were longer than her (yes, all of her), thankfully—as if it had been otherwise I wouldn't have been able to catch her. I caught up to her and put my arms around her to stop her; I held her tight. She kept shouting Bianca's name, although she was not particularly startled, she was definitely confused. I had no idea as to what to do next—I was probably hyperventilating. I was kneeling behind her, and was holding her very close to me. I closed my eyes and stuck my cheek to her back, then I started rubbing her belly while I improvised a lullaby. Here's some of what I came up with:

 _Do not fear my lovely baby,_

 _Do not falter my sweet bean._

 _My caress will hold you safely,_

 _My love will keep you serene._

 _From the things that want to scare you,_

 _From the faces that seem cold,_

 _I will guard you with my brief tune,_

 _I will make sure you grow bold._

 _Rest my lovely, rest my darling,_

 _Rest and then wake up again._

 _Fly away my little fletchling._

 _Fly to me my swift noivern._

 _Tell me why you want to leave me,_

 _Tell me what troubles your sleep._

 _Is there something you wish to see?_

 _Is it something you will keep?_

I repeated that with the softest voice I could produce until she finally calmed down. Then I carried her back to the house and sat back on the couch, and she slowly regained consciousness while resting on my lap. Gradually, the atmosphere returned to its blissful normalcy, and sooner rather than later it seemed like her escapade hadn't happened at all. All I could do was wait for Ash to appear, although the most capricious side of me wished for her tenderness to continue gracing my skin.

Bianca, she's the best out of all of us. When S _he_ died, Bianca was the first one to notice the essential needs that S _he_ left behind. She took care of the little one like the most loving mother, and she did so out of pure selflessness—of the kind which cannot be replicated—before any of _us_ had a chance to even think of filling the void, out of selfishness, selflessness, or both. However, as Bianca already had a family of her own, after the most crucial time of need had passed she went back to her native Unova.

The little one and I were able to sneak out of the house to buy ice cream, return, and eat most of it, before Ash came down, bumbling and still sleepy, with a long and heavy face, and eyes closed. We laughed on his face, and then fed him until he was pleased.


	12. My weekend in Kanto

My weekend in Kanto went by in a flash full of bliss and harmony.

I went back to Lumiose, and Ash and the little one came with me. I threw around an offhand comment and both father and daughter clung to it, the latter with a justifiably childish fickleness, the former like the dense, easily excitable, lovable boob that he was.

I simply said: "You should come visit me when you have the chance." They basically said: "We can do that, now." And their vacation was spontaneously set.

And every question I cautiously presented at them afterwards was rebuffed with a weirdly endearing carelessness. I was dealing with two kids. Although, since the older kid seemed not to care about money—of course he didn't, it would have been a waste if somebody as alive as him shared the same monetary worries as the rest of us—I didn't put on much opposition from my part; not that I wanted to do so anyway. I talked about my apartment, about what had at first been advertised as a second bedroom, which would have been better to classify—because of its size—as a closet; they didn't care. Ash was dead set on sleeping on the floor before I assured him such extremism wouldn't be necessary; and about Dawn's predicament, they had immediately forgotten with alarming ease.

Now, at this point—most people would agree—excitable people like Ash should be sat down and told to take a step back, to take it easy, and wait, as there would be a better opportunity which could be dealt with more calm. But, as I was not his mother nor his wife nor his carer, I decided to keep those reservations to myself. I hadn't asked him to come with me, he blatantly used a basic usage of common courtesy to tag himself along; I was just being polite; I didn't mean anything else by it. What else was I supposed to do? Tell both of them cold and straight that they couldn't go? I reflect I could not have done that.

They said it wouldn't be a problem and would tell Dawn later. I offered to do so myself and they instantly agreed, their imprudence was adorable, but it became worrying when thought upon. I sat in front of my laptop with the intent of writing an honest letter to Dawn about what had happened as well as what was about to happen, I was well aware of how it would come off. I thought about writing it while impersonating Ash, but after excruciating hours I just leveled with her. I said: _Hello_ _Dawn_ _, I told Ash he_ _and the little one_ _should visit_ _Lumiose_ _some time_ _and he took it to heart. They were ready to l_ _ea_ _ve without packing but I managed to convince_ _the_ _m to bring some clothes, if not to rethink_ _their_ _spontaneous adventure. I recognize I did not put up a fight, but I can assure you my intentions_ _a_ _re benign. I'm not sure what exactly they are thinking or how long they are staying, and I'm aware it would be imprudent of me to ask about your schedule and availability, but if you could somehow join us we'd have the loveliest time_ (I promise I meant this).

A lot of what happened during their impromptu vacation on my domains has blurred into a hazy collection of delightful snippets that arrive to me and warm my heart at random moments. What happened after they went back to Kanto also helped to stir up my memory and made it harder for me to access those merry moments at will. But I'll give you a general rundown of that week they spent with me.

From the second day onward the little one slept on my bed with me, we stayed up till late wearing our pj's and slowly grew more comfortable with each other, to the point that, on our last night, we slept practically glued to each other. Meanwhile Ash took over the small bed on the smaller bedroom, where he went to sleep every night except the first. Every morning, however, he always appeared somewhere else, either on the couch, on the rug, or, on one peculiar night where he scared the both of us when we woke up and he was nowhere to be seen, outside the apartment. In a violent and anxious rush we looked for him all over the place, and found him inside a previously unseen sleeping bag on the roof of my building. He still refuses to reveal to me or to his daughter exactly what happened that night.

While I was at work Ash went to bother Clemont, and I did think about taking at least the little one with me to work, but I decided against it seeing as I wasn't in the best position with my employers, and it was best not to push it. So I had to wait till the evening to really get the best out of our time together. I had never been as glad as I was when getting a paycheck as I was that week. I remember crying tears of joy on top of the ferris wheel, eating milkshakes and pancakes for dinner (it was nice one time, but I have to admit that combination is not for me. Further tries made it evident my delight stemmed from that beautiful moment I shared with Ash and the little one), teaching her to roller skate; I was dead set on avoiding her getting hurt a single time, and I succeeded! And I too remember avoiding a visit to the boutique, as I didn't want to make it seem like I was trying to impose on Dawn's impeccable, respect-demanding style, although a purse and a hat with the little one's essence all over them did escape my restraint.

During those nights I treated them to big dinners on the best places around town. It was the only way I could find to communicate my joy and my love to them, and it wasn't something that would be noticeable once they returned to Kanto, although I think the little one did put on a few pounds because of the trip. However, as I was not in charge raising her then, I felt completely free to pamper her as much as she allowed me to, and, I wasn't surprised to discover, that not only was she just as insatiable as his father, who was much older than her, but she somehow had more energy than him. By the last night even the great Ash Ketchum was too tired to go to dinner, so it was just me and the little one.

After we ate we took a stroll through the marble streets of Lumiose at night, both of us full, satisfied and jolly, and it was during our walk by the river when I broke into song, and after only a few encores the little one was able to follow my tune to the letter and with a beautifully toned voice. We continued our trip back to the apartment without giving rest to our voices, and as we reached magenta plaza the little one jumped into my arms, and sang her heart out to the sky. I rested my back against a wall and listened to her with my eyes closed, partially because of how tired I was. Then I opened them when another voice joined in with her song. A stout gentleman with gray hair had come upon his window to duet with the little one. Then, together, the three of us serenaded a few onlookers and passersby until our lungs could give no more. Not satisfied with gifting us with his voice, the gentleman by the window then graced us with flowers, which we received with gusto and then went our way. When we reached the apartment, I served her a glass of juice, and poured one for myself too. We drank as we stared at each other, agitated, and about to reach complete exhaustion. But we said nothing, we just drank and took big breaths in between. Afterwards we threw ourselves on my bed without changing and instantly fell asleep.

I was sad to see her go back to her normalcy. I was also guilty, because I unmistakably had had a hand in her change of air, in which she was adamant to stay, and only when she was reassured that she would come back very soon, or that I'd visit them very soon, or both, somehow, was she allowed to be taken inside the plane by her father, after many heart-wrenching tears had been spilled.

As I mentioned a few paragraphs before, something happened when they left Lumiose and went back to Pallet Town, and just an uneventful day later Ash called me, right after I got off work, and spoke to me with a voice so different from what I was used—and delighted—to hear. He sounded deep and earnest, I worried something bad had happened for a second, but I cannot say it was that kind of call. He told me Dawn had asked him to marry her—I had to find a bench to sit down. As he continued telling me that she'd made a fancy dinner for him the night before (the night of their arrival), and afterwards she got down on one knee and presented him with an expensive ring, I thought about how I had started to dream again, and about how, because of it, it hurt me to hear him revealing this to me. But it didn't hurt like before, and a small part of me felt joy as I imagined the three of them sharing a happy life together. I was happy for them, and even if it hurt, I wasn't afraid, and I knew, this time, it wouldn't hurt for long.

"What do you think I should do?" He asked me. He had the nerve to ask me such thing.

"What?" I replied completely dumbfounded, and ready to become silently offended after ascertaining the shameless nature of his question.

"Serena? Can you hear me? I just asked what do you think I should do?"

"Well… um… uhh (you don't ask that sort of thing to people just like that, you dense child, I will eat you, you insolent, careless, unbridled, exhausting, exquisite, enchanting fool) wh… what is on your mind at the moment?"

"I don't know."

"You do know."

"Well, I'm just thinking about the little one right now (he did refer to her as such, after having heard me call her that for a week), she needs a mother. I've thought a lot about that. Remember you told me about when she ran out of the house? She has done that a few times, it's supposed to be a transient thing, I really don't know, I've been sleeping way too much recently."

"You seemed fine when you were here, except for that weird night you appeared on the roof, of course."

"I was, I felt fine, I guess it had stopped for a while—the same with the little one."

Silence.

"Ash, you know I can't tell you anything…"

More silence.

"I just want for the two—for the three of you to be happy. Any decision of that kind must be made by you, but I do want to tell you this: this is your choice and yours alone, don't just take the fact that the little one needs a mother into account. If you really want what is best for her you must think of what is best for you, what makes you the happiest, and I guess it is easy for me to say this because I know she'd be a great mom so there's no doubt there, but that is besides the point! You must take care of yourself and make sure you are happy, so that you can make the little one happy, because she may need a mother, but she needs a father that is fully present for her too."

More silence.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"What do you want?" Ash asked back.

"I want you to be happy."

"Thank you Serena." He sounded confused.

"Don't mention it, please call me again if you need anything else."

He hung up, and I spent all night pondering the reason behind the sudden development. It was my understanding that Dawn was a crucial part of the Ketchum household, and yet the two adult parts of said nucleus were never on the same frequency, and perhaps there wasn't a frequency at all, although it was obvious Dawn wished for one to be there. Maybe she loved him but he couldn't reciprocate in the same manner. Maybe, and this was coming from the mischievous part of my brain, of which I hate to make use, maybe she realized the little one could use a mother figure and he, Ash, could use the help. Maybe she thought the relationship would grow from there, but he just didn't feel the same way, to her extent. Maybe Dawn thought she was losing ground to what used to be the little coward Serena, who decided to try and get the drop on her (I didn't know if I could continue any of those two relationships, neither of which was ever as deep as I would've liked it to be, knowing I'd had a hand in changing the course of something that was destined), and maybe Dawn decided to take a chance; to speed up the process and complete her objective.

And who could blame her? I'll tell you who: no one! And anyone who dares to try deserves the blame that comes with the hateful judgment; no one deserves to be judged by equally guilty voices, certainly not for loving someone appropriate for her. Seriously, I spent too much time thinking about what was wrong with such a situation, and I came up with nothing; I was fine, I felt fine.

It used to be when I was a little girl, and somebody stared at whom I had silently claimed as my boy for a little too long, that my heavy sight would fall upon them and linger until they noticed my ethereal spirit condemning their souls to eternal suffering. I could've killed somebody. Thank goodness Ash was as dense as a rock, otherwise I'd be in prison. During my youth there was no alternative to those overwhelming feelings, that insatiable hunger; no appropriate vessel for my fantasies to be saved in and subsequently turned into realities. But that time was behind me, and then I was free and able to rest. Such is the sweet and liberating consequence of time and growth. So with that last thought in my mind I closed my eyes, and was able to sleep for an hour, after which my alarm woke me up. Coffee tasted good again anyway.


	13. The sole purpose of my life

The sole purpose of my life, at least up to a few weeks ago, used to be for it to be entangled to Ash's own life, and to stay that way through eternity. Whether in my dreams, in my fantasies, or in my daydreams, it didn't matter. Therefore I was surprised to discover, when I was left without that purpose, that my life did not end. Who would have thought? Certainly not I. I still existed, on my own, and it was, and still is, nothing short of a miracle.

A part of me certainly died, but I did not feel any less alive, in fact the opposite was true.

A disillusion can effectively kill someone unprepared to experience it, but it can also grant you a vital opportunity to start over more alive than ever before; an opportunity to realize that obsession isn't love. True love doesn't make you jealous or enraged, sad or desperate. It doesn't make you fear for the future. True love can only fill you with life, with peace and harmony, with hope, and assurance that, regardless of what comes later, you'll be fine, you'll have the courage and the strength to get through anything. I really don't wish I could go back in time to tell this to my prepubescent self, everything that I have lived so far has led me to this, and to what is left for me to live, and it looks beautiful. This is how it was supposed to be.

I really don't know what I'd say to my younger self if I had the chance, I don't know if I'd tell little Serena anything. Maybe I'd say something like: don't worry so much, it's okay to be sad sometimes, just keep cruising baby. Or maybe I'd say: please, sweet girl with the golden heart, sleep tenderly, because simply by breathing you have proven you can change the world. Darkness, mischievous desires and corruption, cannot die in this world. They are as undying as the light and purity residing inside of you. So don't focus your well meaning energies on trying to get rid of the scum of the earth. Bitter souls can only corrupt and destroy, they have nothing else to give. Don't let them take away your greatest strength, don't let them dim your light. Use it to shine brighter and blind them, blind them all!

Oh well, perhaps I got carried away, for a moment. My life continued, but a huge weight—which I now liken to a big black mass that was buried deep within my chest—was left behind me, and with it stayed the stress and the worries that it carried within. I was happy and I had real love within me.

During one of those happy days when I was fully settled back into my regular life, I had a particularly weird dream which I am able to recall to a subjective level of perfection. I remember, I was back to being a wandering teenager, naive and innocent—but my current situation somehow stayed the same, job and apartment included. I was many feet off the ground and I had to jump into a pool. Except the pool was empty, and then it was a big black hole. Then the whole surface on the ground turned into a black nothingness, but somehow I still knew that it was a pool full of water. And to jump, I had to take off all of my clothes and leave behind my trustworthy backpack, full of essential gadgets for the trip on which I was on the dream. And even though at first I was afraid, I was petrified, there was never a real hesitation in me, and I was fully present when I took off all of my clothes and left my backpack behind, and jumped butt-naked into the nothingness. And I did it, and I don't know if I won something or just lost or anything other than I would be fine, and even in the dream I knew I had succeeded simply by jumping off. Then—while I was still naked—many people appeared around me, and I realized that they were all me. A miniature version of me, an enlarged version of me, one that was just a giant face with legs, one that looked exactly like my grandma but I knew it was me, and then I knew it was my actual grandma too, somehow, as well as other people whom I'd never seen before, at least not with a conscious eye. One by one they started congratulating me and clapping for me, and at that point I noticed they were all me again, now for real, and then I noticed that I couldn't be congratulating myself and be at the end of such gesture. And when I identified that impossibility I woke up, with a classic light headache, courtesy of the weird dream.

Unlucky for me it was one of the big days. Unlucky for the headache I wouldn't let it distract me, let alone bother me or detract from my enjoyment of the culmination of my and my co-workers' efforts; and more importantly, the efforts of many performers all over the region. It was the day of a pokemon showcase.

On the big days, I still love checking the venue first thing in the morning, seeing it empty, then watching as it fills with enthusiastic fans and people seeking to enjoy some of the most beautiful expressions that life can grant them. I love going into the green room and finding all of the performers freaking out before the showcase. The quietest and most anxious ones are always easy to identify. I love going up to them and reassure them any way I can. It's important to me that I add in the words which have been proven crucial for the performers to hear before their time on the stage: remember to breath, it doesn't matter what happens later, focus on yourself and on what you and your pokemon have done to get here. And from that particular showcase onward I add a new line: don't worry about what can go wrong, just make sure you make yourself proud.

Sometimes, depending of how nervous they are, I grab them by the shoulders—sometimes I even give them a lengthy and effusive hug—and quietly rejoice myself afterwards when I take a look at their eternally thankful, sweet faces on the verge of tears. For these sweet and tender souls willing to reveal themselves to the world, I realize there is nothing better, nothing more useful, than a warm hug.

Usually the most anxious ones, the ones who cannot hide their overwhelming fear, regardless of how much they'd want to, end up winning the showcase; statistically speaking they're most likely to win, at least in accordance to my considerable experience.

When the showcase starts I put on a big hat and a big pair of glasses, because—and I'm just pointing this out as a practicality, as it is not my intention to plume my own myth—I'm mildly recognizable on the circle on which I move, perhaps because of my not so easily-disposable feats on the stage. Then I walk into the stand, as far as I can be without missing a single thing, and cry my eyes out, out of pure bliss. And while I don't mind very much if people notice me, I do my best to hide my overflowing emotions, which encompass much more than socially-acceptable moved tears of joy.

Anyway, seeing all those little teenagers moving all around the stage makes me too happy. I'd rather weep in public than repress myself.

Then, once the showcase is over, I go backstage again and make sure the evening finishes without any passion-filled tragedy—of the kind that can arise whenever fragile teens overwhelmed by extreme emotions are involved. And if I happen to find one or more performers on their own I invite them to dinner and listen to them talk all night. I always listen to them much more than to my own voice, as I reflect that's what I needed—as much as I needed good advice—when I was their age. And for a week or so after a showcase, I float through life without worries, all thanks to the rush of that elated day.

Days passed, coffee and walks to work colored my days bright. I remember another showcase, a girl's tears on my shoulders. Bonnie and I making fools of ourselves at an open mic night to cheer up a bunch of girls who didn't get their ribbons that night. My intern catching me singing my karaoke songs at work and joining in, the maligned nephew who still had a job there making fun of us. Taking my intern to the roof and singing more. My boss, Phil, catching us and then joining in. Catching Dawn at the airport and sharing an awkward handshake with her. A lot more singing. Avoiding Alain after encountering him at the store—I'm pretty sure he didn't see me. Avoiding even more men that somehow started hitting on me in an exaggerated amount—maybe they too could notice I now had more love to give. But I didn't like what they were saying, and at that point I wanted nothing of what they were offering.

At some point during that valuable time of glee and a tiny, bearable amount of earthly suffering, I found Dawn at the airport while I was there to pick up the general director of the National Board of Performers, aka my supreme boss. She, as in Dawn, looked at me strangely, with a hint of condescension, and she didn't seem particularly happy for someone who, at that point, may have been engaged. I assumed she may have been pretending external dullness, while internally rejoicing, for my sake. I completely understood why she didn't tell me she was in Kalos. She had to travel a lot because of work, it must have been hard on her then. But all I thought then was that she must have missed her guys back on Kanto and vice versa. Regardless, seeing her did not affect me (no, seriously).

What affected me, what crushed me, what broke me and put me back together, was receiving a phone call from the Hoenn region. From none other than May, another one of Ash's transient companions, with whom I had rubbed shoulders once or twice, not including Ash's wedding, where both of us were invited; where I did not go.


	14. At first the phone call

At first the phone call went on as expected from two faint acquaintances who had good views about one another. We were both doing well, vacation suited me nicely and life went on. There had been a scary storm in her hometown but her parents were fine. Yes, life was good.

Then the conversation took a turn when she started questioning me about Ash, specifically about the state of our relationship, the last thing I had said to him, and how I felt about him. I sensed her line of questioning to be on the wrong side of social adequacy, but as I was used to spewing out such boundless parlance I didn't mind revealing anything, although she didn't care for my honest answers, especially when I referred to Ash as a dear friend of mine. She seemed heavily invested in our exchange, but she was being rather coy about the reason behind such a sudden assault to my privacy. It was not until I stopped being polite and asked her why she was stepping to me, that she revealed her intentions. Finding no one else appropriate to talk about such matters, Ash called May, and he poured himself to her with such honesty that May thought she should do something about it, even though she partially felt she was violating his trust.

"Look," she said. "I'm only saying this to you because it pertains to you. I don't know what you said to him when you last talked, and I'm not blaming you or anything, but it did a number on him. Serena, Ash loves you, and he was hoping you'd say something about it when he called you to tell you about Dawn. By the way, I have no idea what is going on with them, or with the two of you, I don't know what you told him, and again, I cannot blame you for it because Ash was never going to reveal this to you, because he's an oblivious, immature individual when it comes to matters of the romantic kind. And that's another reason as to why I decided to tell you that he loves you. Regardless I just couldn't do nothing."

At this point I thanked her, and after a brief pause she told me it was nice to talk to me. I told her I also enjoyed our conversation and we should do it more often, and then we went our separate aural ways.

Now, after that phone call ended I suddenly caught one of those familiar urges to hop on a plane to Kanto, and after some pointless deliberation I ended up giving in to what my most visceral entity wanted of me. I took a red-eye flight carrying two small bags with me. Then I waited at the airport until an appropriate time in the morning arrived, and then I went to their house. And less than a day later after I received May's phone call I was knocking on Ash and the little one's door. But, when I decided to go there in the first place, I knew that I wasn't going to confess any sort of feelings of mine, but to get the truth out of Ash. And I'd get it, even if I had to rip his heart out to do it.

Ash opened the door and found himself staring at my general direction, but his obvious freshly awakened state stopped him from identifying me concretely. I'll admit, I was almost offended because he failed to noticed me immediately—if he in fact loved me like May said he did, he sure seemed not to care for my image right in front of him, having just knocked on his door. However I chose to spare him at that moment, especially when his barely open eyes turned into striking round plates, which could have been made of raw silver. _Est-ce que je ressemble à un rêve d'été, marin?_

"Serena!" He shouted, without noticing how loud and high pitched he sounded. "What are you doing here?"

I only uttered a few syllables before he freaked out and told me to go inside.

"Would you like some tea?" He continued once I was past the door.

"Tea?" I asked, quite surprised—with an eyebrow raised. "Since when do you drink tea?"

"Well, the doctor told me to ease up on the coffee because it's not helping my blood pressure, so I've been dealing with that. It's been tough, I don't understand, I wished my body wasn't so capricious with me. Apparently there comes a time when it becomes a burden for the human body to carry itself, and I'm right at the threshold. I don't know if I'll be able to handle it. Anyway coffee hadn't been helping me stay awake anyway, and it was the only reason I drank it."

"You don't like coffee?"

"Not really, it's too strong and the flavor seems too serious for my tongue, it always has."

"Hm, is that so… I love coffee."

"Yeah, no kidding, I saw you plunge through gallons of the stuff… err, I mean, I do like it, I love it actually, and not just because you like it…" I was most certainly sporting a pleased smile and a sober gaze, while the pallet boy-man melted right in front of me, for the first time in my life, I was the master of my surroundings. "…I mean, I don't like it because you do, not that there'd be anything wrong if I did, but also drinking it makes me feel like an adult… err, I am an adult though, I have a child to prove it, do you want to see it? I mean her! I do love my child, and I am mature and responsible, don't believe my mother, or Gary, or my neighbor Tessa, or any of her kids, or the old guy from the store, or the old guy from the workshop, or the old guy who lives by the creek, or Pikachu…"

Oh! Dear reader, I do hope you can forgive me, for I could have let the aimless creature continue his pointless rambling for hours, days, weeks, and I'd only be delighted. It was the perfect soothing song of my victory over fear. Nevertheless, I, engulfed in the power of my deliverance, voluntarily set him free.

"It's fine, if you don't life coffee. It's completely fine."

"No I know, it's not like I hate coffee, I mean I don't wish a tragedy for coffee it's just… that…"

And he ran out of words. I was loving the new dynamic, a far cry from the way our conversations used to go; the tables had turned; now he was the one dying on the inside and I wasn't; he looked silly and lovable; he was having a meltdown of the kind I used to have in front of him, of the kind he never noticed.

"Anyway, I'll take some tea," I said, formally releasing him from my clutches.

"Ah! Of course…" he said. Then he stopped working for a few seconds. "Uh, wait here."

I disobeyed his order and followed him to the kitchen to make sure he wouldn't die.

"Where's the little one?" I asked.

"She's sleeping upstairs, we went to the lab this morning," he said, as he masterfully poured tea into two cups at the same time over the sink, while spilling none of it on his skin. Then we went back to the couch each holding a cup oozing steam, which traced our course to the living room as if uncovering the remnant of our hot connection.

"So, how have you been?" He asked me. And as I paused and stared at him with a frown on my face I realized he was not that present.

"I've been good, I just decided to take a quick stroll through Kanto."

"Nice."

"Yeah… so how have you been?"

"Good, all good, well I mean, I've been well, great actually."

"Anything new? Different?"

"Like what?"

"Remember when we last talked?"

"Yeah, it was… I mean I'm sorry I don't." I saw his mental journey perfectly through his eyes. His immediate reaction was to say yes to my question, without thinking. Then he remembered. He freaked out, he panicked and cowered, and quickly went back on his first answer. Then he hoped with all of his heart—I saw it well, what a coward—that I would just gloss over the whole thing and forget about it, and just let him off the hook. But there was no way I was going to do that.

"I think you do remember, and I don't like it when people lie to me, specially people for whom I care deeply."

"Okay you got me I do remember!" He caved in, like an insolent child about to be rightfully reprimanded by his feisty mother.

"It's okay, you can relax, I'm here for you. Now, I think you know what I'm getting at."

"I do?"

"Yeah, you can't keep pretending, I know you're more aware than what people give you credit for, and I know you're not one to back away from something like this. You out of all people won't let cowardice overwhelm you, so talk. What? Is it that I have finally found something in which I am much more capable than you? Love, upon which I thrive, and you shy away?"

"I guess so."

"Excuse me?"

He got up and walked away. He ran away actually, with his head down, ashamed and scared. He looked hilarious. I got up and followed, but he fled to the patio at a faster pace, and it was at this moment that I discovered, to a full extent, the being whom both my heart and my conscious self had decided to love, when Ash, with bed-hair, five o'clock shadow, white shirt, shorts and sandals, tried to climb the fence into his neighbor's yard. I ran to him, we both screamed. I put my arms around him, I believe he was crying. I saw his neighbor sitting on a long chair with his hairy belly uncovered and a drink on his hand. He simply raised his open hand and waved it at us with an awkward smile on his face. And what an awkward scene it must have been, although for that I did not care, and I still feel the same way to this day (and I'd do it again, in a heartbeat). I let out a guttural growl as I brought tall-child Ash to the ground, and took the air out of him. Two adults wrestling because one of them couldn't say I love you—a scene recreated directly from Serena's most primordial dreams. I wouldn't have it any other way. I got on top of him and held him down so as to avoid another escape. I was seeing him at his most naked state of distress, it was an assault.

"Everything's okay Ash, it's okay to be scared," I said after regaining my breath. I had to move the wild hair off my face, I'm sure I swallowed some of it. "I know this is new for you."

"That's exactly what she said to me," Ash said, then fully calm.

"Who, Dawn?"

"No…"

"Oh, I'm sorry." I understood. In an instant our atmosphere was not the same. I got off him and helped him get back up.

"Please don't be," he told me. "You're right, you're absolutely right."

Then, once he had gotten up, and right next to me, he launched himself towards my body, mouth first. I put my hands in front of me and stopped his sudden strike.

"What about Dawn? I will not be part of this Ash Ketchum. Not like this, never like this. I'd never forgive myself, I'd never allow myself to see what would've happened."

"I'm sorry, I don't know how to do this, and I know that's a terrible excuse but it's the truth. Serena, I couldn't say yes to Dawn. And it was all because of what you said to me, but please don't think it's your fault."

"No, how could I?" I said. And then it was I who started walking away. Honestly, it was funny.

"No! You don't get it, you were right, you told me I needed to be happy for myself so I could make my daughter happy, and I knew that I wouldn't be happy with her because, because I knew you, Serena, it's you."

As I had learned to love myself unconditionally, and this had led me to discover my self and know my self in a complete way, I knew that I loved him and that I always would. But I also knew that I would survive without him by my side. Love was to him what everything else was to me. And knowing that, as well the state in which an honest, real moment left him, which thoroughly deconstructed the unduly immaculate, unrealistic image of undying bravery that I had of him, only made me love him more. I pondered silently about this as he too fell silent. I knew that at that point he thought I was indifferent about him, and that I, at the very least, must reveal my feelings to him. But there was a noise. A slamming door, and then another door—an even louder slam. We looked at each other, and then we ran inside. We sprinted upstairs to the little one's bedroom, but she wasn't there. We ran outside.


	15. At first the phone call Part 2

Ash and I quickly separated to cover more ground. Even in a small town with only a few people, it was still alarmingly easy for someone to get lost. I don't know in how many holes and on how many trees I looked for the little one, and I reached all the way to the small creek nearby—to where she seemed to head off the last time I witnessed one of her sudden escapades. And I found her. To this day a part of me wishes I had not seen her like that. And only because I know that not finding her at all would have been much worse—inconceivable—I do not regret it. She fell, from a very high place. A hill ended on a precipice, she did not see it. Her right arm was broken, right at the middle point between her elbow and her hand; the bone wasn't exposed and yet the limb was gruesomely bent. Blood was coming out of her small head. She was unconscious, and yet the pain was visible on the mild frown on her face, on the blood stained cheek touching the ground drenched in her blood. She twitched a couple of times as she let out a few moans, just like the ones she used to let out every morning—every morning she woke up right next to me, back on Lumiose. How I wished to spare Ash from that sight, but it couldn't be helped. After witnessing his reaction I could only hope nobody else ever had to be driven to react that way. But sometimes great suffering is inescapable.

We rushed to the hospital where after some grueling moments the doctors said she was stable and would heal fine; her broken arm, as well as the bones on her ankle and on her hand, which were revealed to have been broken as well, would heal fine. The caring and patient doctors said she'd be fine, and yet she wouldn't wake up, and not a single one of them would tell us why. Ash, the freshly appeared Delia and I, managed to corner a nurse, and were on our way to elicit some answers out of her when one of the white coated monks—masters of silence—thwarted our attempts and even admonished the poor and innocent nurse for her troubles. They said her head injury was superficial, they said she'd be fine, and yet she wouldn't wake up, and they said nothing more about it. They said nothing of which I cared about, sentences like suspected traumatic brain injury made me want to gag. They said the blood came from a superficial laceration. But, when the panic of the moment passed, and all that was left for us to begin putting the trauma behind us was for her to wake up, she didn't, and then the doctors started worrying. The benevolent, caring doctors couldn't hide their worry (I soon grew to despise them, although, just like I did at that moment, I try to mask my contempt). They tried their best to assure us she'd be fine, but they failed. Ash was borderline catatonic.

Friends and family appeared. Even then I grew to love them genuinely simply for showing up. Their attempts to console the father were futile however. He heard nothing, their words did not enter through one of his ears and came out unprocessed through the other, because their words did not enter his ears at all. Dawn, fallen and freshly heartsick Dawn. Sweet, warm woman full of love, was moved to cross through the barriers of a recent deception, all because of the honest love she had for the little one. I spent a good part of a harrowing day embracing her, receiving her tears and listening to her disarming wailing.

I remember, a scene vividly imprinted in my memory, detailing a family's dark hour. And yet, I do not feel any sort of guilt when I admit, my heart scintillates when the sad and somber image comes to me. It has nothing to do with abandoning myself to the pain, it has all to do with knowing that I'd never allow myself to suppress those honest feelings, neither would I let them be a source of guilt for me. It happened during the night, we could not have asked friends and family to sojourn in our sorrow any longer. Only Delia, Ash and I remained guarding the little one. It was Delia's turn at her immediate side, meanwhile Ash's body and soul rested on a darkened waiting room. I neared my cup of coffee to him, he didn't move an inch (I can't remember why I only bought one cup of coffee, I think he wouldn't drink anything). Then I let the cup on the ground and sat by his side, and he finally reacted, by plunging into my arms, with his eyes full of tears.

"I already lost _Her_ , I cannot lose the little one too Serena, I won't survive," he said, with his face buried in my chest. Any words, any lessons I had learned so far, were beside the point. I had lived long enough to know that life on earth was too diverse to be ruled solely by any kind of simplified moral.

"She will be okay Ash, I promise. She'll wake up any second now, don't think like that," I said. And I meant it too. During that moment all I knew was that I would somehow bring the little one back to full health with my sheer will. Ash broke down crying in my arms, any semblance of any life I had was lost. She was all that mattered to me, and the love I had for Ash was the only thing keeping me from collapsing like him. It was then that I realized just how much I loved the little one, just how much I had ever loved anyone or anything in my life.

At some point deep into the night, Ash calmed down. The anguish that he felt—the kind of anguish that a loving father like Ash could feel—managed to run his energy dry, and he was sleeping on his mother's shoulder. Even then I could sense his agony in my core.

It was my turn at the little one's side. She looked like she was sleeping peacefully on the hospital bed.

Who could judge with full impartiality? Who could judge and not be judged back? Certainly not I, certainly not anyone of this earth, and yet I knew she was the least deserving of that punishment. She had never hurt anybody, she was as innocent as a sweet child could ever be. And yet she too had to pay for everyone else's transgressions.

What did I do? Should I have locked all doors? She wasn't a toddler. Furthermore we all thought her fits were over. It never happened when they were in Lumiose with me. We all thought she was past it.

I grabbed her unscathed hand, it fitted on the palm of my own hand. I kissed it. I knew she could listen to me, I was certain of it. I told her as much, I told her she'd be fine. I said these things happen and will keep happening, the same way joyful moments filled with pure laughs would continue. Then I sang the same lullaby as before to her—which I will present in full this time—with my eyes closed and my cheek resting on the back of my hand as I held her tiny hand.

 _Do not fear my lovely baby,_

 _Do not falter my sweet bean._

 _My caress will hold you safely,_

 _My love will keep you serene._

 _From the things that want to scare you,_

 _From the faces that seem cold,_

 _I will guard you with my brief tune,_

 _I will make sure you grow bold._

 _Rest my lovely, rest my darling,_

 _Rest and then wake up again._

 _Fly away my little fletchling._

 _Fly to me my swift noivern._

 _Tell me why you want to leave me,_

 _Tell me what troubles your sleep._

 _Is there something you wish to see?_

 _Is it something you will keep?_

 _Would you take me? Would you leave me?_

 _Would you love me either way?_

 _Let me soothe you my sweet baby._

 _Let me take you far away._

 _Sleep my darling, you seem weary,_

 _Sleep my lovely, you need it._

 _Please don't let them make you dreary._

 _Please sleep nicely, sweet Edith._

I opened my eyes. And when I looked at her again she had her humid and tender eyes open. She was a sweet miracle I could witness for a lifetime.

"Mom?" She asked with her sweet angel's voice, that I missed so much. "Is that you?" My little sun, I'd never leave your side again.

"Yes I am," I said. What else could I have said? I meant every word anyway.

She started crying tenderly and then suddenly got up and reached for me as I pointlessly urged her not to move. She hugged me and clung to my life like her own life depended on it.


	16. Now, I present to you

Now, I present to you an excerpt from an older project of mine, instead of the usual sugary (too sugary, perhaps?) parlance. A piece of the otherwise unreleased diary that I forced myself to write, as I sensed my recollection of such a hectic time of my life would prove unstable. This diary was written in third person during fiery nights of yearning fever, as an attempt to distance myself from the situation which was concurrently unfolding, and to enjoy it as much as I could from afar, as well as how I was enjoying it, and dying from it, in living color. Nevertheless, rest assured, dear reader, who, by this point must stick until the imminent end of my tale, simply by sheer inertia, that everything written below happened as close as I could put it on words. This chapter in particular was written after a lengthy conversation with the exuberant recipient of my womanly love, and therefore many of the reactions did not have to be inferred. At this point, Edith is holding onto me (with an arm and two of her fingers broken), while the two of us cry our hearts out to one another, right after she has woken up from a peculiarly distressful sleep. I must leave you with it.

 _Ash knew he had heard his daughter's voice. He rushed to her room and then stopped, astonished, at the door. He found her. His daughter, conscious and tender, as if reborn, crying in the arms of the woman he loved. Just like him, crying in the arms of that same woman not long ago. It was during that moment that he became certain that woman was his life, as much as his daughter, and that he would not let anything bad happen ever happen to either of them again._

 _He walked over to them, they noticed him. And every step he took, appeased his heart full of anguish a bit more. But nothing compared to the relief he felt when he embraced his daughter in his arms, and then his sour tears turned sweet and joyful—he swayed tenderly as he held his girls on his arms._

 _The well-meaning doctors tactfully separated them, albeit only physically; as they knew—with Serena in the equation—their love for each other had multiplied. However it was not all sweetness and joy, when, in the morning, after a night of pouring hearts and tear-filled smiles, the most austere side of reality showed its dull, bespectacled head._

 _They were ecstatic, joyful and full of love, and their togetherness masked their fatigue and frustration; it revitalized them. And yet, even in their jubilant states their unconsciousness called for them to leave that difficult and multifaceted place and go back to their home, and rest, together._

 _But that wasn't possible yet, the doctor said. The little one had to be kept there longer for examination, and of course Ash, Serena and Delia would stay with her, like a nurturing fortress of love, ready to tend to her every need with the utmost care and affection, and to fend off any danger with relentless rage._

 _Ash was the most incensed by this halt, at least noticeably. He let go of his girls and raised from the bed, with eager fists filled with impotence showcasing his indignation. His daughter had woken up, she wanted to go home; he genuinely couldn't understand why they were being stopped._

 _The doctor said he understood how Ash felt. Perhaps he tried to speak to him, and to the rest of them, with tact and care. Perhaps, during his medical training, he had taken a course created with the sole purpose of instructing future physicians to deal with people in distress in the most effective manner. However, this young doctor still had a long way to go, to ensure that people in distress regained their calm. Perhaps theory was something remotely different from practice, at least for him._

 _To any level-headed individual in a peaceful state of mind, the doctor's words may have sounded clear and reasonable, and it should have been obvious, as soon as they heard him talk, that he was acting with the utmost care and caution. Nevertheless, at that moment it seemed to Ash as if the young doctor were a mischievous villain trying to keep his daughter trapped in that colorless dungeon._

 _Serena tried to understand. She tried her best to characterize herself as the stoic and soft embodiment of a motherly side—the blue to the father's red—knowingly complementing Ash's openly physical, incendiary qualities, which were an essential part of parenting, if not the only one._

 _After the doctor finished his assessment he left the room in a hurry, as if he had many other patients in peril for whom to care, leaving the teary-eyed occupants silent and mildly upset. At that point even Ash had to admit that the little one's transient sleep had lasted a lot more than everyone—even the doctors—thought it would, and that was certainly worrying. The little one herself was more grateful than anything else. Meanwhile both Serena and Delia had a bittersweet sentiment currently devouring their insides. They too were incredibly grateful for little one's safety, and she would heal fine, however, at the same time they lamented how somebody like her, someone so lovely and so innocent, someone for whom they harbored so much love in their hearts, had been taken to the point where she didn't even complain for all she had suffered. Or was she so lovely and so innocent, that she didn't want to bring more troubles to her visibly afflicted father?_

 _Ash, didn't have to pretend to seem fine—he tried to do so, he failed—because he was an obvious wreck, on the outside as well as the inside. He wouldn't reveal it to anyone, at least not during that moment, but that visit to the hospital distressed and unnerved him to no end, in an equal amount from start to finish. It could have killed him. Even when they knew that the little one would be completely fine, he hurt as much as when she was asleep and still in dubious peril. Having tasted the desolating bitterness of life inside one of them once before, Ash understandably resented hospitals, and he dreaded even having one of them in sight. During that harrowing time at the hospital he gained an enormous amount of gratitude towards his previously ignored childhood sweetheart, Serena, who had to remind him to breath every once in a while, and she did so only very graciously. And for the rest of their last day at the hospital, Serena held his hand, firmly and diligently, in a partially successful attempt to appease him._

 _The rest of the day and the night spent on the little one's room were dour, dull, and almost asphyxiating. It would have been genuinely harder to breathe if they hadn't had each others' company. Serena cried as she watched the little one eat her nightly meal and sip on her colorful juice, and her tears were moved by a wide array of feelings which she allowed to roam freely through her._

 _The next morning the good doctor appeared with nothing but good news, and the negative thoughts that the little one's family had about him, and about that whole place in general, suddenly disappeared, and were exchanged only by gratitude and good favor. Finally after a couple of harrowing days in the hospital, the four of them—Delia, Ash, Serena, and the little one—were allowed to leave for their home, all of them exhausted, yet carrying smiles on their faces; the little one, wheelchair-bound. Nevertheless, they were filled with hope, and they had a good reason for it._

 _Once he arrived at the house where he had lived all of his life, Ash lifted his daughter off the wheelchair and carried her effortlessly on his arms, all the way to her lovely bedroom upstairs. He then laid her down, gently, as if she were made of glass, on her already prepared bed, and stared warmly along with Delia and Serena as she fell sound asleep. Only then did he allow his soul to rest._

 _Serena hadn't stopped crying, she had been crying the whole day. Neither Delia nor Ash bothered to console her, because they knew her—and they could see it in her eyes. At that point she was the definition of bittersweet. She couldn't stop looking at the little one, severely hurt, but convalescent. Sweet, beautiful in every sense, capable of bringing the most joyful bliss into the world. She only had well-meaning wishes in her heart and thoughts of love on her mind. She too could be insensitive, but only innocently. She could hurt other people, but would do so only unconsciously. And yet she could get hurt. She was hurt._

 _But she would heal. And she would go back to her usually jovial self, or she would turn into something even more beautiful. Ash, Delia, and Serena, would make sure of it. They were planning to shower her with gifts and kisses and food upon arrival, but she thwarted their plans by falling asleep._

 _Before they noticed, it was dark outside. They left the little one's door open and went downstairs, they hadn't realized they were starving. Delia went into the kitchen, Ash and Serena went into the living room. They were speechless, but serene. The tragedy had cleansed them and had left them fragile and tender. Empty yet eager to be filled. Serena sat on the couch and Ash sat right next to her, neither of them bothered to turn on the Tv. It was the perfect moment to take a deep and healing breath, and to reflect on the situation. The nightmare was over, the pair had nothing about which to worry but themselves._

 _It took more than just a moment for their eyes to meet. Suddenly they were teenagers again, while his mom was in the kitchen, only a few steps away from them, making dinner._

 _Serena could tell Ash was struggling. She wished to spare him from any more distress, but at the same time she couldn't resist getting an inoffensive reaction out of him. She laughed in a snobbish fashion; it was during that moment that Serena realized that man belonged to her, specifically because that was exactly what that man desired the most in the world. Apart from his daughter's well-being, of course. Serena wouldn't have had it any other way._

 _"So," Serena suddenly said. "A few days ago you said something to me… please don't run into your neighbor's yard."_

 _"I won't, I promise," Ash replied. "Yes, I did say something to you. I do remember."_

 _Shamelessly, Ash peeped into the kitchen, as if there were an evil monster waiting for him in there. Serena followed his eyes with her own, she couldn't see what he was looking at because she was facing the opposite way—although she obviously knew. He seemed scared. A few seconds later—he kept staring into the kitchen—he was suddenly startled, his eyes became ten times bigger, and he silently cowered in terror, as if the monster—who was in actuality a smart and lovely woman—had howled a threat at him. Ash looked deep into Serena's eyes, she could tell the fear was fueling his courage. That was the Ash Ketchum she knew and loved, the one she had loved for all of her life. He got off the couch suddenly and intensely, almost jumping in the process, grabbed Serena's hand, to which she responded by getting up too, slightly confused, but eager. And he took her to his bedroom on the bottom floor, without letting go of her hand. Once they were inside, Ash closed the door behind him._

 _Meanwhile on the kitchen, Delia smiled._

 _Back on Ash's bedroom. The sound of the door closing seemed to have an effect on Ash, who stood stoic like a statue, still holding the doorknob, completely clueless as to what to do next. He had abundant eye-bags below his bloodshot eyes, and his hair was messier than ever before. He had never seemed more attractive to Serena._

 _She did not mind him in the least and made herself at home, starting by taking off her shoes, and continuing by throwing herself backwards on Ash's bed. She used her elbows as support to get a better view of her target, and stared at him with a smile on her face. She laughed in a snobbish way again._

 _"What was it?" Serena asked._

 _"Please don't make me say it," Ash replied._

 _"I need you to say it," She pressed._

 _"Come on," Ash pleaded. He then let go of the doorknob and put his hands on his pockets._

 _"You have no excuse. No one can save you now."_

 _"Why are you being so mean to me?"_

 _Ash seemed truly frustrated. If only he knew then, thought Serena. But, he would know, Serena then thought for herself._

 _Still on Ash's bed, Serena got on her knees and approached the corner closest to Ash, who backed away the few inches that he could before clashing with the door behind him. Then he laughed nervously, after sensing his cowardice._

 _"Do you know how many years I have been waiting for you to say it?" Serena asked. She had never felt more sincere._

 _Ash looked at Serena genuinely surprised. Then he closed his eyes and lowered his head, as if something inside of him had just died._

 _"Serena I didn't know," he said, very honestly. Serena could tell._

 _"I know you didn't, it's not your fault… say it… say it."_

 _"I love you."_

 _"I love you too Ash, very much so." Serena got off the bed and approached a stoic Ash. "You have no idea of how much I love you." She grabbed both of his completely limp hands and placed them on her chest whilst holding them tightly. "How much I have always loved you."_

 _She stared right into him, and ascertained just how much she loved that man when he didn't look away. Ash, the puppy, the boy, the soldier, the man, did not look away._

 _"I think I do have an idea, a pretty good idea actually," he said._

 _"Oh yeah? How can you be so sure?"_

 _"Because I love you too," Ash said._

 _"Say it again please," Serena said, with watery eyes._

 _"I love you Serena."_

 _She caressed his hands, and then released them, and watched them go all the way to her cheeks, and felt them caressing her face tenderly. Serena grabbed his hands again and stroke them whilst they were still caressing her, then she stared right into his unswerving eyes._

 _"I'm ready," Serena said. "And willing, to give you everything I am, everything I have, to the last drop of my blood. Will you take it?"_

 _Ash then gave Serena the best kiss of her life._

 _The most intense kiss that made her forget everything and everyone. Where she was, even her own body except for her lips and the back of her head. It left her both satisfied and wanting more. She still wishes—to this day—she could live in that kiss for eternity. It would be the warmest, the most tender, the most intense, most mind-numbing, most concupiscent, most satisfying, most loving, most candid and heartfelt house to ever exist._

 _Then Ash released her, and then Serena needed to lay down. She opened her eyes, he was still looking at her. At that point she knew she belonged to him, forever._

 _"Yes, yes I will," Ash then said._

Now, let's move to the nearest past that can be managed, to where this newest recollection of the beginning of my new life (which you are reading at this very moment) was being written in first person, by me. This, many, many years after that mythical kiss, which, after revising the excerpt detailing such event once more, has sent my mind into another blissfully numbing episode in which I wouldn't mind staying for the rest of my life. This morning older Serena has discovered her first pair of gray hairs, which usually appeared unaccompanied, and—please don't be alarmed by this— also this very morning I have decided to trade regular coffee for its decaf version permanently. Do not lament this dear reader, who now knows me enough to feel compelled to do so, for it has been a good run of many, many years. I now fear death even less, and I hope no one takes this as any kind of fatalistic remark, for I am only unafraid, come what may. I fear looking older than my still jubilant mother-in-law much more than anything else I can think of. At least it brings me joy to know that my daughter has those same life-preserving genes manifesting her, although that does not bother her at the moment in life where she is now, eager to leave her childish appearance. I guess one regret of mine is not taking even better care of my body to keep up with my restless husband and his unchanging family. But I must also add that I have kept _it_ quite tight for their (and more concretely, his) enjoyment, and will keep doing so until the day I die. (note for future Serena: this seems like a pointless footnote, erase, maybe?)


	17. A sense of thrilling expectation

A sense of thrilling expectation reigned over my heart, and kept my body limp and easily excitable. Tears flowed from my eyes without regard for time or space. I remember regaining consciousness, freshly awakened from a delightful afternoon nap, and being instantly disoriented after opening my eyes. Even then I was certain I had never before slept on the rather hard bed below me, even then I knew I was ecstatic and peaceful, and sensually awakened. The door of the then unknown room was open, and just as I turned my swollen eyes and ascertained this, Ash walked in carrying a gentle smile on his face, exuding a different kind of playfulness, which startled me. He walked towards me nonchalantly—I got scared. I tried to raise from the bed and run away, suddenly dreading his closeness for no reason at all, but he touched my shoulder and appeased me with a caress and with his voice, and then kissed me on the forehead. And the contact of his soft lips with my skin brought back my memory from its sleep, at which point I jumped onto him and tried as best as I could to assimilate him upon me, either by phagocytizing him into my insides, or by smearing him all over with my self, so as to make him my own. I was completely aware, that regardless of how much I tried to invade his surface and fill it with my cells, none of his integrity would lose its immaculate individual identity—which I would try my best to keep intact, for the rest of my life. Therefore I felt free—and I called upon that freedom—to continue my love assault.

I remember spending most of my time right after the mutual love confession of my beloved and I on the little one's bedroom, clinging to her as much as she clung to me—the casts on her arm and on her leg couldn't separate her essence from me. It was then that I realized just how similar she was to her father, not because of how desperately she needed a vessel for her to place her love—as, I recognize, that is a characteristic shared by everyone else, regardless of the degree to which they recognize it—but rather because of how eager she was to love herself, and to act upon her desire to love others. I was completely ready to receive her love, and she was completely ready to receive mine.

However, even then, when the boon obtained from my self-acceptance had gifted me with the most precious human beings ever created—and which made each and every one of my cells rejoice—there was some sadness. I had to leave, and all I could offer was my sincere promise to return as soon as I could.

There is some sense of tragedy in obtaining happiness, as it opens the door for more suffering upon discovering the possibility of losing said happiness. But that's life, and true love can't ever be lost.

I left for my country, and I made promises which on my heart I knew I'd keep, or I'd die trying; I kissed them all over, for many hours, as they cried for my departure, and as soon as the couple were out of my sight, I started missing them with my whole body.

My life on Lumiose—at least when I was out of my apartment—felt just like my regular life, on my own. And it was a life I could have lived until completion, and I'd only be grateful for such a beautiful opportunity. But, as it was, I had obtained a couple of beautiful gifts which I was blessed to miss.

As soon as I opened my eyes in the morning, and as soon as I entered my apartment after a desperately joyful sprint from work, I was euphoric to find their expectant faces on the screen. And I would only let Ash and the little one go until it was absolutely impossible for us to continue our connection. Nevertheless, I was in another plane of existence, and I could notice the difference inside of me as well as everywhere around me.

I was perfectly aware I could do as I pleased and not be fired from my job. I could arrive three hours late, or skip going to work altogether. I could (theoretically speaking) talk back to my boss or tell him to do my work for me—he knew my surpassing of his level of authority was imminent, and he seemed to take it in stride; we were good friends. I could also scold the nepotized nephew all I wanted, and he now feared my presence. Once, I watched—while wearing sunglasses indoors, coincidentally—as his favoring relative berated him for being terrible at his job, and for dragging his name through the mud by misusing the opportunity that he had granted his nephew. Embarrassed and humiliated, the nephew then turned to me, being fully aware of my docile and non-confrontational nature, and asked me to assure his uncle that he was in fact good at his job. I did as he asked, while adding a few inventive encomiums—complete fabrications—which by themselves would leave him with no other choice but to start minding his job and become productive. And because of this I experienced the value of temperance and restraint, albeit not without a good deal of learned (and arduously practiced) assertiveness. After this incident the nephew stopped being a nuisance, and a negative force, and instead became an ally and overall a below-average worker who still made some mistakes. But he changed, for the better, perhaps—and I'd rather not receive any credit past this mention—because of my intervention. (Would it surprise you to learn that he now holds the position I had at work during all of this?) It was a beautiful display of the victory of love and prudence over contempt and resentment. Still, even after all of this, I vowed to myself not to take advantage of this newly acquired power unless strictly necessary. I went to work every morning with a beaming smile on my face, and left at five o'clock in the afternoon, yearning for my family.

I remember, very vividly, finding a sweet girl named Elizabeth crying on a corner after a showcase. What troubled her then was not a very delicate matter, rather something that afflicted many others, not only those of her age. But because of her precious and withdrawn nature, it took me some time to learn about it. Maybe not being alone in the world, that is, having to coexist with everyone else, afflicted her as much as it afflicted everyone else. I understood her predicament well, sometimes it is very difficult, nearly impossible in fact, to be around other people. We cause ourselves trouble simply by existing near one another. We can't help but make each other afraid of life. I don't know if it would have helped me to know that, while I was suffering because somebody hurt me, directly or indirectly, everyone else around me, definitely including the person who hurt me, was suffering just like me.

I too have hurt people. I'd like to think that I have done so indirectly and unconsciously many more times than when I have done so willingly. It's not like I have held many grudges during my life, I'd like to think that I have never really hated anyone, although I've certainly been angry—absolutely livid—at many people, many times. But, it would have helped me immensely to know—or to at least to remember, during those times—that everyone around me, that is, everyone, without exceptions, was suffering, had been hurt at some point, and was afraid, just like me.

Elizabeth was going through a particularly rough time with her contemporaries.

When you like to do something, regardless of what that something is, at some point in time you'll find yourself around other people who like to do that same hing. Elizabeth loved showcases, and dreamed of becoming a great performer herself. Like her there were many others, and some of them weren't disposed to feel so friendly all the time. Frankly, it comes down to simply not having enough energy to be friendly, or understanding, or unafraid. Who on earth would like to spend a whole afternoon being honest with someone for whom they don't really care? Why try to reach? Why try to connect? When it is much easier to dismiss, and to pretend to hate. You can't really hate someone who is inherently the same as you—part of you. I dare to say this: The more you think you hate someone, the more afraid you really are, and that's that.

Perhaps I'm being too bold, and some people still bring a great deal of anger and frustration out of me, daily, but I cannot say that I harbor any hate in my heart, and my life and my love are both definitely better for it.

I didn't say this to my dear Elizabeth, at least not directly and in such a condensed way. Like her, there were many others with tender hearts, all of whom chose a path which includes the abundant revelation of all that's inside of their minds and souls, and which often leaves their hopes and dreams exposed in front of the world. I often found them crying. What I'd do (which I still do), whenever I happened upon them, was present them with a shoulder to cry on, and tell them, with all the honesty and sincerity I could produce—without any sort of pretense—that I'd be there if they ever needed anything. Anything at all. Someone with whom to cry, someone to help them, or someone to simply be around. You'd be surprised to know just how many of these lovely babes could use a good pair of ears. Elizabeth was one of them.

Basically, what I tried to communicate to them is that everyone is afraid of feeling too much, perhaps not to one same degree, but we're all afraid. I tell you, people have essentially disowned themselves, and have closed themselves off and left their insides completely inert, thinking that if they can't feel, they can't get hurt. People seem to have forgotten that they have endless love within themselves, and they don't have to look for it anywhere else. That love is already there, only waiting for them to take it, and to carry it around with them wherever they go. Not everything will be joy and happiness, you will still get hurt. It's going to be rough. Of course, truly loving yourself isn't easy, in fact it takes a big effort. Don't ignore your flaws, do not ignore your problems. Being truly happy doesn't mean ignoring the sadness. Acknowledge yourself whole along with the world. It is difficult, but if you love yourself you cannot fail. Love is a flawless guarantee sent from heaven above.

I'm sure I said some of this verbatim to Elizabeth. I remember more vividly when I saw her smiling, next to her pokemon, resolute and ready. What a lovely girl of my life.

Anyway, during that time I made quite a few trips to Kanto, to be close to my Ash and my little one. There was no better sight to my eyes than her scintillating face when she saw me go through the door. She revitalized me. They didn't visit me in Lumiose until the little one healed completely, and so it was me who had to contain her restlessness on diminutive plane seats. I had the bold audacity—with quite a few duties already consuming more time than what I had—to get a second job as a private consultant for the advertising department of Lumiose Galette, mainly because I needed the money for plane tickets. Between my two jobs and my two loves and my young performers and my coffee enjoying endeavors I did not have a lot of time to sleep, and when I had time to do so I wouldn't do it. Instead, I'd spent most nights talking to my beloved Ash until the morning came, at which point I'd jump out of my bed with a wide smile on my face and my body—full of energy—ready for another day.

During that time I was a beast. I genuinely didn't need to rest. Gazing at the little one was the only thing I needed, her eyes were my oasis. I was a jet engine, I felt like I could turn into a plane and fly to Kanto, with my sheer will serving as the inexhaustible fuel. And of course my plane would run on love.

I believe it was only a single time when my relentless frenzy of boundless love and action came to a halt, which lasted no more than a few seconds. My sight dimmed, my ears started buzzing, and a few seconds later I was completely fine again—and hungry again. Afterwards I started taking a bit more care of myself, however, I was completely sure I could take all of it. And I did. I was Serena the caring mom, Serena the loving girlfriend, Serena the frequent-flyer miles exploiter, Serena the online lullaby singer, Serena the high road taker, Serena the private consultant, Serena the surrogate mother, Serena the coffee lover, Serena who constantly bailed on her friends, Serena with the very understanding friends, Serena the karaoke singer, Serena who one time released her undigested meal on an alleyway. I played all those parts, completely and successfully, all at the same time. I knew that I couldn't keep that up for the rest of my life, but for the time when it was needed of me to do so, I delivered.

I'd like to take a moment to acknowledge the man who helped me cruise pleasantly through all of this. The one who, whenever I needed, infused me with energy in many different ways. My dear Ash introduced me to a whole new level of caring, his caring, which, joined with my own sense of concern for my loved ones, transformed into an implacable juggernaut of overbearing parenting. And although our new monster had a justified reason for existing, it was I who willingly took on the villainous role—at least according to Ash—of easygoing mom, who allowed her daughter to roam freely through any previously, and thoroughly, inspected and sanitized environment. That was (and still is) the root of the only source of our disagreements, and although it brought me some distress to create a whole new source of worry for my beloved, I knew it to be a necessary worry. After all, we couldn't keep the little one inside a breathable crystal box, regardless of how attractive that alternative seemed to us during our most distrait moments. All I wanted was for my little one to experience life without irrational fear.

Ash cares for life. He cares about things that have real value for people. It is never about money. It is always about the intent, the feelings, the time and the place, and the people behind it. He cherishes those things and does his best to protect them. He's deeply nostalgic and endearingly childish. He's more mindful about people's feelings and situations than what people give him credit for. He always saves mementos from everywhere we go, and keeps all the memories and meanings behind them guarded safely in his mind. He's grateful to people who likewise care about life. He gives me hugs filled with a desperate love that has finally found an adequate and willing outlet. He loves being outside. He's only truly alive when he's outside or with someone else by his side. He dreads being alone. He's not afraid of solitude, but of the boredom that comes with it. He loves spending time with his daughters, he takes them everywhere. Any place where he cannot take them will not be visited. His idealism will never be defeated, for him there is always a positive side to be looked upon.


	18. A sense of thrilling expectation Part 2

During one of the weekends I flew to Kanto, while we were eating dinner and enjoying the Indigo League Championship on Tv, he jokingly proposed that if his favored trainer won against mine and the little one's favored one, then one of us would have to go to the natural history museum—one of Ash's favorite places in the world—the next day. I mentioned that I'd go with him regardless of the outcome, and his first reaction was to laugh. Then, he looked at me with an incredulous pair of eyes that failed to hide a trace of yearning expectation behind them.

"Well, you can joke about it all you want," he said to me. "But if you are serious I will take you there tomorrow first thing in the morning."

I assured him I was serious, but he didn't believe me.

"Alright, I think that's enough for me," he said.

I said I was serious again. I said I'd wake up and get ready before him.

He didn't believe me. He turned to me and started pointing his index finger as he said: "If you're going to come with me, you're going to come. Don't just say you're going to do it like it's nothing. I'll wake up early and I'll get ready, and I'll go by myself if I have to."

One thing that's different between Ash and Edith is that she hates museums. She hates feeling a bit too static for too long.

I kept saying I'd go with him, trying to assure him, and he kept pointing at me and asking me if I was being serious, to which I kept answering effusively that I was.

"Are you sure? Because I don't want you to tell me in the morning that you're not feeling well, seriously you have no idea."

I said that would never happen and extended my hand at him. He shook it after a few seconds, and kept asking me if I was sure. His doubts didn't leave him until we went into the museum the next day—I'm quite sure he didn't get any sleep. He wasn't sure I'd go with him when I woke up and got ready before he did, nor when we were on our way. We had a great time at the museum, it didn't feel like a date, it felt like we were married. But, I must say, I do not remember the exhibitions well, I couldn't focus on admiring the fixed pieces of art. I spent all of my time there admiring the piece of art that was Ash Ketchum from a sensualist perspective of which—up to that point—I had not made use. While we were there Ash was literally enjoying a celebration of life, I enjoyed that. Afterwards he couldn't believe how much I'd enjoyed it, all he could see was that I was pleased, and he could sense that my feelings were genuine. Nobody had ever bothered to go there with him, nobody cared. I understood completely how he felt. Oh Ash, if you had known then, that would be your life from that point on. If you knew, dear, you weren't the only one who cared.

When the little one healed our dynamic became much more dynamic. I didn't quit my second job and the little one took a semester off from school (there was an unspoken understanding that an important academic change was to come soon, so that decision did not feel careless but instead sober and premeditated). During that time they'd spend their week on Lumiose with me, and on some weekends we'd all go back to Kanto. The little one and I were inseparable, I'd take her literally everywhere with me. We'd be together in bed, at work, at the pool, at the boutique, at the restaurant, and then in bed again, and then we'd repeat the process the next day. During that time Ash hilariously and ironically broke his arm while hanging out with Clemont. The little one and I got back from work one day and found him sitting on the couch, with Clemont there with him, with a cast on his arm. I was really angry with him at first, it seemed so stupid to me. The little had just recovered from a serious injury. But I did my best to calm down, I knew that was not what he needed at that moment, when he foolishly broke his arm. I wrote 'you're a dummy' on his cast.

During that time I learned concretely what Ash did for a living. The cheeky bastard had used his connection to the also privileged Gary Oak to get himself an incredibly beneficial role at the lab. Technically he worked for the government. While he had his arm broken I helped him write many of his reviews, assuming the role of caring wife completely devoted to the relationship even from then. He also owned a restaurant.

One of the weekends we spent together in Kanto holds a particularly special place in my heart, and I have avoided talking about anything related to it—for the most part—so far, because I first wanted to talk about it objectively. It happened on the morning of the little one's eight birthday. It was Saturday. She had orchestrated it all in her mind before she mentioned any of it to us. We hadn't yet had our breakfast, where she would be introduced to the celebrations with the presentation of _the_ small cake—a preamble for _the_ big cake which would adorn her party until its end, at which point it would be feasted upon. Both cakes had been masterfully baked by her father the week before. We had just gotten ready to start when Edith announced that I should personally accompany her on a very special trip, which would take a couple of hours, and which had to be completed before anything else could officially start. Ash was dismayed, and almost offended, when the little one told him he couldn't accompany us. And she also made him promise, with all of his heart, that he wouldn't ask about it or follow us during the trip. Such was her considerable understanding of her father. Ash had to bring all of his maturity to the surface to agree to her tyrannic terms, but, it was obvious, that was his only choice. The little one took me by the hand and walked me outside without saying a word. When I tried to figure out her plot she told me we must remain quiet at first. I knew that she was very aware of herself, and she knew that if we started talking she would end up revealing everything to me. She was dead set on accomplishing her plan to perfection, but I had to admit her silence made me quite distressed. It all made sense when she took me to the flower shop. The little mastermind had somehow arranged a special order, which was already prepared and waiting for her when we arrived. Thank goodness I had brought money with me, because she had not yet paid for it. Still, it was nothing short of impressive. She really was (is) a genius. Then I got scared. Perhaps I wasn't afraid of the future, I wasn't afraid of a life by myself, or of losing my job, but, at that moment I was quite afraid of where she was taking me, and about what was about to happen, as in, the very immediate future. It felt like a very difficult test was upon me. I felt like the very first time I was about to walk onstage during a showcase. I felt like I was the little girl and she was the adult. If she had not taken me by the hand, I wouldn't have made it.

We arrived at the graveyard, my knees were shaking. She seemed firm and determined as she took me all the way to where _She_ was buried. Then Edith let go of my hand, knelt down in front of her mom's gravestone, placed the flowers in front of her, and closed her eyes. I forced myself to move my numb body and knelt right next to her, and likewise closed my eyes. It was because of her impeccable decorum, that all I did at that moment was pay my respects to _Her_. And it was also because of her decorum that I stopped myself from crying. When I opened my eyes I found the little one standing up, turned to me, staring at me very seriously. I didn't know it at the time, but the lovely little one was freaking out internally because she forgot what she was going to say. Then she turned away from me—I thought it was part of her plan—and took out a piece of paper where she had written a speech. I still have it, some times I reread it for fun. I treasure it and always have it close to me. I have thought about adding its contents to this tale, but, as it wasn't explicitly written by me, I must let you down this time, dear reader. And you must conform, if you will, with my detailing of its contents. The little one turned to me again, and told me that it was time to introduce me, to _Her_ , as her mom, and to assure _Her_ that even though she had me now, and she loved me and she wanted for me to become her mother, she would never forget _Her_ , and she would not stop coming back to _Her_ , now with me by her side. At that point I was crying my eyes out. But Edith wasn't done, so I forced myself to regain composure to listen to her—but it was useless. She then grabbed my hands and asked me, in front of her mother, if I would like to officially become her new mom, and I said yes before I broke down crying. I held her very tightly and looked right into her eyes when I said that I would love her and protect her forever, although at that point she was the one protecting me from hitting the ground. At that point, I must admit, she was the one consoling me. Then it was official that I would love her forever, and that she was my sweet daughter Edith, and that I was her caring mother Serena. And it all had happened in front of _Her_. In front of _Her_ , who without being on this earth with us had blessed me with the most precious gift I could have ever obtained. I can only be thankful, I can only care for sweet Edith with all of my life, and never with anything less than that.

The remembrance of this scene really warms my heart. Even now, as I write this, tears are coming out of my eyes. Even now all I can do is thank Misty, and think about one day where I'll be able to do so personally.

We stayed on the graveyard until half past noon. Periodically I would have to answer Ash's messages ascertaining our safety as I tried to clean my face, but it took quite a long time for my eyes to stop coming out of me. We went back, Edith's party started. And for the duration of the night we didn't let go of each other. People were confused. There isn't a single photograph of that event with us separated from each other. Infantile Ash was jealous, however, that wasn't his day. It was ours, because Edith said so. During that night she officially called me Mom for the first time, then she cried, and I only didn't cry because I wanted to console her, or perhaps, because I had exhausted the quantity of tears I could produce that day.


	19. A sense of thrilling expectation Part 3

I guess, since this is the last part of this particular recollection of that time in my life, I should dedicate some time to the wedding. Yes, it was perfect, and it was flawless, and everywhere you looked at the venue could have been a painting, and it was a beautiful moment to be kept forever in time as a perfect memory of what would seem to be the best moment of my life. Because I forced everyone and everything around me to make it perfect. And I can't really say that's the absolute best moment of my life, and I can't feel guilty for it. That can't be condensed to just one night, or a few weeks, or months, perhaps. When we decided to get married and have a big wedding, I went about it, and ended up executing it, with one mentality: weddings are not about the bride and groom, not at all. They should be, but they aren't. They are about posterity itself, about the image of a good wedding to remember, about the mothers (in this case, mother) of the people who were actually getting married, about fancy relatives, friends, and disinterested guests who showed up for one reason or another, and maybe, just maybe, for the bride and groom a little bit. I knew this, and yet, I wanted to make sure they all had a good time, and that they remembered it well (I didn't care about how they'd entertain themselves talking about it—I hate thinking about that—anyway, we didn't give them good material to talk bad about it) and that they laughed and celebrated with us, and—what was the most important thing to me—that they left with their bellies full. It was very important to me that everyone ate a lot at my wedding. However, between the very beginning and the consequent execution, something came upon me.

I became a fiend, seeking flawless perfection without a real meaning behind it. A mere human trying to reach glory. An ideologue who would ultimately hate what she sought the most once she found it. It all started after the first day when the serious, meticulous, cerebral preparations began. The seed of what would have been my undoing was planted, or perhaps, it had always been within me. And it would only come out—or rather, try to come out—if I were to get married. I forgot, it was not really just my time. They say weddings are all about the bride. They lie. Like never before, I clashed with the lovely mother-in-law that I esteemed so much. Delia momentarily turned into a—genuinely concerned—professional worrier, and at first I really didn't care about it. I didn't mind that she took over some of the things, upon which I'd rather not pry (uneventful, now unimportant), but when she tried to have a say in the choosing of my wedding dress, I had a momentary lapse of judgment—which I now remember as one of the saddest points of my life, in between some of the happiest ones. Although I guess that's a good thing, since that's one of the saddest moments I can think of, I mean. I could have clawed her eyes out. However, I don't think anyone noticed the most severe moment of my fit—I probably just looked very red.

Thankfully, I managed to take look at myself in front a mirror before I lost myself. I realized I wasn't actually enjoying it at all—the planning of my wedding.

Ash hated it too. At some point he stopped caring for it and said we should just go to Alola and have our wedding by the sea. Delia and I could have harmed him—even with my newly-regained relaxed state. Luckily it turned out to be just a lapse in judgment, and afterwards he continued showing me that he wasn't bluffing and he was a caring person all around.

I chose not to have bridesmaids, thank goodness the little one was there, so no one had the chance to be offended if I didn't pick them. Ash had no problem with it, nobody batted an eye when he chose Pikachu as his best man. And then we continued working together, and although we didn't lose the stress completely, we got some actual enjoyment out of it. It was as much for us as it would be for our distant and not so distant relatives. But, as I told Ash before we dived in to the most barbaric side of it: we'd do it for ourselves first, and for them second.

I have to be honest with you dear reader, I can't really remember the wedding itself. That's why I keep stalling. I know it happened, and I remember parts of it very vividly, but, I guess thanks to all of the photographs and videos I've watched, I liken it more to a dream than to real life.

I remember staring at Ash's face, (I should ask him to write a memoir or something, he was fully present at the wedding and remembers all of it perfectly, as if he were perpetually replaying it on his mind) and him smiling at me. I knew I was happy, but I also knew that my real, happy self was hiding inside of my mind, for protection, and that on the outside I was very consciously playing a part in front of many faces that were staring at me, to avoid ruining everything. I remember Ash's face, his eyes and his mouth, taking notice of my breathing, and then retreating into my mind and thinking of myself and the little one cuddling with sylveon on the grass, while at the same time minding everything around me and releasing only highly calculated and premeditated responses. All of the sudden I wanted to drop everything and tell everyone to take it easy and just have fun and relax. It was really tense. I also remember trying really hard to concentrate while the minister asked the most important question. I wanted to feel as present as I could, so as to ingrain the moment to my memory, but I guess I made too much of an effort, and it went by very quickly. I suddenly wanted everyone to stop and do it again, I almost did it. I almost wish I had done it, but I didn't. It's fine. I did not really relax until the reception started and everybody had eaten. Only then I started to really enjoy my wedding. Then I really enjoyed everything for which I had worked and everything about which I had gotten so worked up.

I also remember very vividly stepping into the dance-floor with only Edith by my side. I was adamant to hold on to my husband for the entirety of the night, but during a swift moment he had to lay down and recharge, if only for a bit. During the instant where he wasn't by my side, it was Lillie who became my dance partner, and when I was done twisting and twirling her slender body all over the place, then it was me who needed to lay down for a bit. By then my husband was fully recharged, and I had to make him come and get me and touch me and revitalize me with his contact, before I stepped into the dance-floor again. Dancing with Ash and the little one, it reminded of of a scene of a novel I read once, where a guy and a girl went to a ball hosted by the guy's cousin, and danced all night with smiles on their faces, in a very ceremonious manner, but still thoroughly joyous.

There was a mild sour moment in the middle of all the euphoric enjoyment, where the self-appointed groomsmen tried to enact the archaic and brutish ritual of assaulting the groom, collectively lifting him off the ground, releasing him onto the air, catching him, and then repeating the process a few times. However, Ash valiantly, if a bit capriciously, thwarted their attempts. He had kept his infantile vitality, and his eager and muscular body was actually ready for their strike. He had maintained his training regimen and was well-built, even well before the wedding, as opposed to the rest of his contemporaries who were, at best, abdominous. He said no, and stopped their attack. I also helped him fend off his would be perpetrators, while Edith calmed pikachu down, and stopped him from giving the shameless ruffians a punishment which, frankly, they deserved. I do not regret stepping in, nor the austere result, in fact, I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Seriously, bring it on. My bones may have become fragile, but I have only gained courage and vitality. I do not care if it looked bad, Ash was very happy when he defeated all of those fellows, and honestly, I was too.

I cannot fault myself when I admit that, at the very end of my wedding, I was very tired—Edith was very tired too, in fact she fell asleep on my arms—and all I wanted was to take my daughter to bed and lay her down before going to my own bed and falling asleep. I did not recover during the next days, before we went on our honeymoon. I was very tired, and even if I wanted to grab Ash and lead him somewhere, undress him and take him for myself, I didn't do it. We couldn't find the time. The whole thing was over, and all I wanted was for people to leave us alone.


	20. A sense of thrilling expectation Part 4

It has become utterly typical of my mind to blend the dates and locations of my most beautiful memories, to the point that I cannot access them or remember them with perfect accuracy. Thankfully, at the very least, I can remember that they did in fact happen, and even if I can't recall exactly when or where they took place, I can always delight myself with sensitive images for which I was truly present. Such is the case of my honeymoon.

Ash and I got on a plane to Alola—Delia, Edith, and Pikachu, were to join us a week later. I had the seat by the window. We didn't sleep for a second during the lengthy flight, but the guy sitting next to Ash did. As soon as he was out we started necking, and we didn't stop until the plane landed. Our bodies were joined for the vast majority of the time we were on the air—perhaps we only should have had to pay for one of the tickets, although I still had some frequent-flyer miles to spare anyway. I commanded our interactions, taking turns between enjoying his lively lips and feasting upon his neck. While we kissed, Ash showed me how eager he was to experience me whole as he focused his barely restrained energies on what I can say with complete certainty was (is) the most expressive zone of my body. And while I made out with his neck, he took a pause and closed his eyes to try and calm the passionate entity that was to take over him soon. Many a time during our flight I had to stop his eager hand from trying to reach too much below my neck, only because I feared a righteous intrusion which—in my mind—would end with us getting kicked off the plane in midair. But that was all I did to admonish his voracious intent, as I was relentlessly feeding his feverishness with my shameless and unbridled caresses. Nobody—least of all him—tried anything to stop me. I don't know what would have happened if anybody had tried, but I'm sure that if they had, they'd have been greatly surprised by my reaction, just as much as myself.

Of course we were very impatient to reach Alola, and more importantly, the hotel. But I remember that at some point we voluntarily made our spirits calm down, as an ultimately beneficial measure to elevate the quality of our connection. More importantly our room wasn't ready yet, when we arrived.

So we were at the beach before we entered our room, having burrowed through our suitcases to produce only the most essential artifacts—swimsuits, three pieces total for the two of us, a towel, two hats, sunglasses, and sunscreen. I prepared our little place on the sand and my husband laid upon it while I went in the water. There was a sense of ceremonious expectancy, we both knew the wait would be excruciating but worth it, and yet, I jumped rather quickly into the ocean to try and calm down my boiling sense of urgency. I slowly came out of the water with a showy flair, knowing my husband was staring, and he didn't take his eyes off of me until I sat right next to him. I didn't have to modulate my sense of space around Ash any longer, I could've paraded my face all over his loins and the only reaction I would get for it would be gratitude. Ash put his hand on my back and moved his fingers softly all over the seething surface; those weren't simple caresses, he wanted me, I could tell. I then reached for a kindly kiss which was promptly revealed as a furtive concupiscent endeavor when I gave him my tongue, which was greeted enthusiastically by Ash's own. I could not bring myself to care about being seen by the many bathers around us, but we did put an end to our public display, only because of the children.

Consumed and wary of our dangerous states, we went back to our hotel and found the pool on the ground floor equally full of intrusive eyes, many of which belonged to precious children, whom we didn't dare to bother with our unrepentant splurge of sensuality. So we headed for the seventh floor, where there was supposed to be an even bigger pool which, upon sight, we were ecstatic to discover was devoid of people. We didn't know if we were supposed to be in there at that time, but we went in anyway. Ash dashed me with Olympic grade dives while I rested on a chair nearby. Then he invited me in and I promptly submerged myself, only to be cornered by him at the edge of the pool, at which point I was consumed by his entirety; I could tell he wanted all of me, and I'd give him everything I had, and I'd receive everything he had in return. It was only because there was no one else around that we decided that place would serve to cement the prurient side of our unbridled connection, for the real consummation of our love had happened long, long ago, without the need for our bodies to be close to one another; without the need for any carnality to exist at all. Even so, our connection at the pool on the seventh floor is still considered an important milestone in our relationship, the most important in our physical relationship, in fact, with good reason. _Ensemble nous ferons bouillir l'eau_. His fortuitous mentioning of my title as his wife made our first encounter completely satisfactory. And the rest of the day, a couple of hours, as well as the entirety of the night, were spent in complete seclusion inside our room. At some point we lost consciousness, and upon regaining it we continued our exercise and marveled as the sun showed up once again on the window, having completely lost track of time and the space outside of that entrancing love chamber. Afterwards a lovely breakfast on the pier was chiefly needed and enthusiastically welcomed, but even after all of our contact we soon grew desperate to go back to our room. We couldn't keep our hands off each other. It was only after our urges were tended to that we were able to have a peaceful, loving conversation. Then we'd have to put a pause to our chat when our bodies called one another again. Since then, his breath has regularly entered my lungs, his hands have been imprinted all over my body, his sweat has filtered through my pores, and words which he had only uttered for _Her_ ears, have entered my mind, where they will sojourn for eternity.

During one of our breaks I went in the shower and filled the nice tub we had there with warm water and bubbles. Then I called Ash and presented myself to him on my knees, with the foam covering parts of my body only turning the situation more overwhelming. His consequent reaction has moved me to recreate that situation every once in a while (to this day).

A point was ultimately reached, where the state of our bodies made it temporarily impossible for us to continue with the intensity with which our minds and souls called of us, and yet we knew that our still ebullient spirits needed to be serviced in a similarly ferocious fashion. So we got dressed and went for a stroll around town. When we stepped outside it was nighttime, which was previously unknown to us. It was then that he and I, fully sober, stepped onstage at an open mic. Our venue, a picturesque karaoke bar for less than fifty people. Our audience, Jolly folks of all appropriate ages touched by the tumbling tongue soother. Our song, mawkish and overtly sentimental, just how I like them. We sang our hearts out to the microphone (one for the two of us, of course), to each other, and to ourselves. To me, both of our voices sounded perfectly in tune, perfectly in sync, and with the perfect volume; we were still making love right then and up there. The audience clapped and cheered and got on their feet. They enthusiastically asked for another one, they probably thought we were out of our minds, regardless, we gladly and willingly gave ourselves to them for the rest of the night. We did not need any kind of substance to raise our spirits, or to calm our minds down, we knew we had gone there to experience one another with our most conscious selves. I can guarantee that we were really good. Both of us started sweating from the first song onward. We both started swaggering and swaying all around the stage while holding on to the microphone—either Ash pulled from me or I pulled from him. Even so, at four in the morning, when they were closing the bar, someone came over to us and tried to pay us for the spectacle, perhaps the owner of the place. We didn't really refuse, we just hesitated for a few seconds, then we took the money and went to a 24-hour pokemon center and bought sodas and candy bars. Then we ate them outside (it's still the best meal I've ever had).

At some point my daughter finally arrived to me, along with my new mother-in-law, Delia, and my new brother-in-law, perhaps, Pikachu. I was dying to see them, but to a greater extent, my daughter. I missed her so much. Without Ash it would have been a _supplice_ for me _._ Thank goodness he distracted me for so long. I would never let Edith go, she was from then on a part of me. As such, I missed her more than anything. I remember clearly, Edith sleeping on top of me. Myself on top of a towel on the sand, staring at the top of her head with the sea at either side of her. It was pure bliss.

I guess there's only two things that I need to add before I can consider this recollection of that period of transition into my latest life finished. One: neither Ash nor I could be considered young, on the other hand, both of us had established careers. Established enough so that any change of air wouldn't hinder our economy in any noticeable way. So, after some deliberation, it was them who graciously decided to relocate to my domains on the Kalos region, where I would be their only pillar of familiarity. But after such a self-sacrificing endeavor, they earned my full, unending gratitude, and I was dead set on being the only pillar of familiarity that they needed, at least during the acclimating period. Ash was ready to sell his childhood house in Pallet Town—what a sweet and caring man I married—however the little one and I managed to convince him that such an extreme measure wouldn't be necessary, and so we can visit Kanto, (and we do so regularly) whenever we want to. Instead, I sold my apartment on Lumiose and my late Mother's house on Vaniville Town, and with our then sizable budget we managed to get ourselves a farm just outside Coumarine City, pretty close to Lumiose. It had a big house and a big barn, which Ash didn't wait to fill with many a pokemon of many different species. I kept my two jobs (at some point the two blended into one, with the same hours, and the same delightful people working under me, making my life significantly easier), that way we had no trouble when Ash quit his own job. He was more than happy to do so—too happy, I'd say. Edith lamented when she had to go back to school, as she was more than happy prancing all over our place with her father all day, and she was forced to limit her prancing time by a few hours. It took her some time to adjust to her new school on Coumarine, but she—being the sanguine princess full of life and love that she was—managed to do so flawlessly, and once she mastered the language to perfection, she'd wake up everyday and get ready before there was any light out, and she'd kill me with laughter, just from how eager the lovely _pépée_ was to go to school.

Yes, life was good, the grass was green and vast, and it all happened because I decided to stop being afraid of loving myself. I am completely certain of it.

And the second thing I must add before I stop: the arrival of my second and third daughters into our lives. First, it was Mandy, my youngest daughter. She was really the condensation of our love for each other. From the three of us she appeared. We had so much love to give around, we needed her. If I was forced to pick the best moment of my life, it would have to be when I saw Edith holding Mandy in her arms, and the moment immediately afterwards when Ash took the baby from her. Edith asked to get her back, but Ash didn't give Mandy back to her, he gently stroke Edith's hair with his free hand, and Edith had to conform with that. The moment wouldn't end there, it was a lovely image which I gazed from afar, sitting on my kitchen. I was drinking coffee, of course. I managed to catch a glimpse of Elizabeth, also gazing at the scene from outside. This happened in the living room. She walked in—this was just a few weeks after she moved in and became my third daughter, my oldest daughter—and she stood at the door for a few seconds with a lovely smile on her face. Then she went over to her family and kissed Mandy's forehead, then she meant to walk past them and into her bedroom, but Edith stopped her—thankfully, sweet Edith—and demanded a kiss, just like the one Elizabeth gave to their younger sister. Elizabeth smiled again, went over to Edith, knelt in front of her sister (Elizabeth is quite tall) and gave her a deep and honest kiss on the forehead. Both of them had their eyes closed. Ash turned to me with a very enthusiastic smile. I was crying, of course.

This then is my story, I've reread it. I have poured all that I have into it. I have taken from those I love, what they willingly gave to me. And I've showed it to you, as sincerely as I could. I have three daughters, a red-head, Edith, a blonde one, Mandy, and one with pitch black hair, Elizabeth, all of whom I love very much. I also love my husband, who also has black hair. And I can say, with complete certainty, that I love you just as well. Please receive my honest love. And, love, please don't forget yours.

Yours truly, Serena.


End file.
